


Work It Out

by Enterprisingly



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Cameos everywhere, Drama, Grad Student Ed, Holidays, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Past Relationship(s), Poor Life Choices, Romance, Roy has questionable taste in fashion and Ed has questions in general, Veteran Roy, Yoga, Yoga Instructor Roy, quantum physics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-26
Updated: 2015-10-12
Packaged: 2018-04-23 11:48:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 67,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4875739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Enterprisingly/pseuds/Enterprisingly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Somewhere at the intersection of hot yoga and quantum physics is what might just be the greatest love story of the 21st century. That is, if Roy and Ed can get their acts together long enough to figure that out. (The Yoga AU)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A few things: This is decidedly a humorous story, but it goes some dark places at times. Roy is a veteran and Ed still has his Automail so please consider this your warning on that front. Additionally Ed is Ed and sometimes talks about sensitive topics with a remarkable lack of delicacy or manners. His opinions are not necessarily mine and absolutely no offense is intended.
> 
> There's a fair bit of talk about science in parts of this story. I did do my research but there are still some things that I'm fudging because this is fiction and I am not a quantum physicist. Thankfully, YOU do not need to be one either to understand this story. 
> 
> I learned after I had already begun writing, that there is a yoga AU started by the artist [obersten](http://obersten.tumblr.com/) on tumblr. He was so cool when I checked to make sure that I wasn't stepping on his toes, and I wanted to thank him for that. I threw in a couple of nods to his AU because the art he drew is SO GREAT, but these two AUs are separate entities.
> 
> This story would not exist without my INCREDIBLE beta, [edroys](http://edroys.tumblr.com/), who cheered me on, fixed my formatting, and wrangled all my stray comas. You are a freaking champion and you have my eternal gratitude.
> 
> Lastly, the whole story is written and I will be posting new chapters as they are done being beta'd.

There’s a new guy in the gym on Monday morning. Roy sees him for the first time heading for the yoga studio, just as he’s coming into work. He freezes, halfway in the door, and just stares.

The new guy is maybe five inches shorter than Roy and has his long golden-blond hair tied up in a high ponytail. He's dressed in a pair of fitted black sweatpants and a red University of Amestris t-shirt. And oh, his right arm is made of metal.

It appears to be one of the incredible new Automail prosthetics that have been hailed as a miracle of science in the news recently and, even from a distance, Roy can see that the metal limb moves with a natural grace that a regular prosthetic could never hope to mimic.

In addition, the new guy has the world’s most intense scowl on his face, as if he’s going to his execution instead of a yoga class.

Clearly, he’s not thrilled to be there.

But neither of those things takes away from the fact that he’s probably the hottest person Roy has ever seen. It’s not like there’s any shortage of attractive people in Roy’s life; he owns a gym, for god’s sake, but this guy. _This guy._ He’s on another level.

 _Oh my god_ , thinks Roy and kind of forgets how to breathe.

“Earth to Roy Mustang, come in please,” says a voice to his left and Roy starts, eyes snapping away from the new guy just as he disappears into the studio. Riza Hawkeye, his business partner and oldest friend, has her arms crossed over her chest and one delicate, blonde eyebrow arched so high that it disappears under her bangs.

“What? I mean nothing – I mean…” Roy clears his throat, trying to buy himself some time for his brain to come back online. “What’s up?”

Riza gives him this look, like Roy has finally lost it. Maybe he has; it’s almost unheard of for him to lose his composure like that. “Are you feeling okay? Please tell me you don’t have whatever Rebecca has.”

Roy frowns. “Rebecca Catalina’s sick?”

“Yeah, she called in around six to ask if someone else could cover her morning classes. I tried to call you earlier but you weren’t picking up.”

“Oh yeah,” says Roy as they begin making their way through the gym, towards the office in the back, “sorry about that. Hughes called this morning to tell me about his daughter’s first day of school and I couldn’t get him off the phone for like an hour and a half.”

Riza shakes her head, but she smiles a little. Their old army buddy basically hasn’t changed in the decade that they’ve known him. “Why am I not surprised.”

“Back on topic, though, how screwed are we without Catalina here?”

Roy holds the office door open for Riza before following her in and dropping his duffel bag on the floor by his chair.

Riza glances up at the schedule pinned to the wall. “Well, I can’t cover for her because I’m teaching a spin class in half an hour. Havoc, Breda, and Falman aren’t certified to teach Bikram yoga, and Fuery’s already teaching three classes today… I guess we could call Olivier…” She trails off apprehensively.

Roy shudders and shakes his head hard. “We do not want to call her in for this; she’ll murder us in our sleep. I mean, maybe if we were asking her to teach another Crossfit class, but yoga? Not a chance.”

Riza ‘hmms’, and gets a speculative gleam in her eye that Roy does not like. “Well, why don’t you cover the classes then? You usually pretend to do paperwork in the mornings, but you teach private yoga sessions pretty regularly so you must have a flow that would work for a couple of classes, right? And if you don’t do it we’re going to have to refund an awful lot of money…”

Roy opens his mouth to object to her insinuation that he’s only pretending to work, but Riza pins him with her best ‘don’t even try it’ look and he sighs in defeat.

“Alright, alright,” he says, holding up his hands in a gesture of defeat, “I do like yoga and it's just two classes. I should still be fresh enough for my personal training sessions later.”

“Exactly,” says Riza, and the satisfied smile on her face clues Roy into the fact that, once again, he has played right into her plans.

He heaves a sigh. She probably knew from the moment that Catalina called in sick that Roy was going to wind up teaching today. Tricky woman is going to be the death of him.

Oh well, in the grand scheme of things, it is only two yoga classes and Riza could have suckered him into something much worse. Who knows? This might even be nice and relaxing.

Of course, it isn’t until fifteen minutes later, when Roy is just about to step into the yoga studio, that he realizes that the new guy – the insanely hot, blond, and scowly new guy – is in _this_ class.

 _This is fine,_ he thinks. After all, Roy is a professional; he deals with plenty of attractive people in provocative poses on a daily basis. _Surely I can handle a single class with him. I'm an adult and this isn't even a private lesson._

Taking a couple of steadying breaths, he pulls the door to the studio open and steps into the room. Then he stops.

 _Oh my god,_ he thinks again, brain short-circuiting.

Fifteen pairs of eyes are suddenly looking in Roy’s direction, but the only ones that he even notices are the bright gold pair that belongs to the new guy. The new guy, who is bent nearly in half, stretching out his hamstrings on his mat, directly across from where Roy will be teaching.

 _Oh hell_ , Roy thinks, _I’m not going to survive_.

* * *

Winry is fucking toast the next time Ed sees her.

_‘You’re so tense, Edward! It’s screwing up your spinal alignment, Edward. Do you want to develop a hunch to go along with your Automail, Edward? Why don’t you try yoga, Edward? You should go to my gym; it’s right next to the campus and has a great studio, Edward. I think it’ll be a life changing experience for you, Edward.’_

It’s bullying, that’s what it is. Isn’t being a double amputee bad enough? Hasn’t he put in enough hours in physical therapy already?

Apparently not.

He had been able to hold out when it was just Winry, but when Alphonse had joined in, too, Ed had known that he was fighting a losing battle.

_‘Yoga's really amazing, brother! It's honestly the thing that helped me recover the most since the coma. Please just try it and if you hate it, you never have to go again.’_

The most irritating thing about _yoga people_ is the fact that they all seem to genuinely believe that there really is no problem that can't be fixed by twisting into a weird position and breathing heavily. Ed, whose entire worldview is informed by hard science and quantifiable data, thinks that it all sounds an awful lot like bullshit.

But these particular yoga people are his beloved little brother and his best friend-slash-Automail mechanic and they're fighting fucking dirty by playing the genuine, loving care card. Which, just fuck that noise. It's not even fair. 

So here Ed is, sitting in a freaking sweltering yoga studio. He’s surrounded mostly by super fit, middle aged women, and disinterested twenty-something hipsters who all probably go to the university, too. He is also one of maybe two men in the room. That's a maybe because the other person who is not obviously female is also not obviously male either. They are, however, clearly right at home here.

Dressed a crop-top to show off abs so defined that Ed could grate cheese on them, and sporting an impressive length of dark green hair tied up in a high topknot, the person of indeterminate gender is chatting loudly with a voluptuous woman. She too is a character in her own right; wearing far too much makeup for a yoga class and the smallest pair of shorts Ed has ever seen. Perched above the ample swell of her cleavage is a stylized red tattoo of a dragon eating its own tail. Ed has to admit, the tattoo is actually pretty cool, if not a little incongruous with the rest of the image she's trying to present.

Point is, the busty woman and the crop-top person are engrossed in a deep discussion about the merits of something called a juice cleanse, which from what Ed can tell, is a form of self flagellation that involves consuming nothing but juice for days. Really, this might just be the worst idea that he's ever heard of.

"I know that they make you drop hella weight, which is rad and all, but they also turn you into a massive bitch. TBH babe, I'm not sure you can afford to get any meaner."

"That's rich coming from you, Envy," the woman replies archly.

 _What the fuck kind of a name is Envy, anyway?_ Ed wonders as he stretches his legs out in front of him.

At least the gym itself is nice. Alchemy Fitness is large, bright, very clean, and it boasts a rather surprising roster of different classes and facilities. To be honest, if he hadn't been bullied into taking a fucking _yoga_ class, Ed wouldn't even be ashamed to tell people that he went here.

He’d picked hot yoga after reading through the class descriptions online. Out of all his options, it sounded like the most macho choice, not that it matters much. Macho and yoga don't really belong in the same sentence in Ed's world.

Sitting in the studio, Ed feels awkward and out of place. Sure, he works out pretty regularly and he spent a long time in physical therapy after the accident, and then again after getting the Automail installed. He’s no stranger to exercising and getting sweaty around other people. But his physical therapy, by its nature, was always a private thing. Even when the facility was filled with patients and therapists, no one ever paid attention to anyone else. Here, everyone is busy pretending to stretch and low-key scoping each other out. Ed in particular seems to be receiving a lot of attention.

Ed has grown used to people looking since the accident that had claimed his limbs and his mother's life nearly a decade before. Normally it doesn’t bother him, but the bizarre feeling of being in a place where neither his attitude nor his intelligence can shift people's focus away from the artificial limbs makes him twitchy.

Any time he catches someone’s eyes in the big mirror in front of them he stares back until they get uncomfortable and look away.

The shiny silver prosthetic that begins high up on his right shoulder tends to draw the gazes of the people around him. To be fair, the Automail arm really is a thing of beauty. Overlapping metal plates mimicing real muscles and tendons allow it to slide smoothly and a complex system of wires and artificial nerves gives him some semblance of sensation. The port is a single piece of metal that curves smoothly to conform to the shape of his shoulder and it is anchored into place with a grid of internal screws and nerve relay hookups.

The difference in mobility and utility between Automail and standard prosthetics also cannot be overstated. Ed has only had his for the last two years and there is no way in hell that he is going back. While the invention of Automail had meant increased mobility and a general improvement in the overall quality of life for many people who are missing limbs,  the relative newness of the technology does tend to make them objects of interest. Strangers staring at him is a small price to pay for getting his life back. But that doesn't mean that he has to enjoy it.

All the same, it's just lucky that he's wearing long pants and the flesh-toned silicone cover for his foot; if the women in the class could see his Automail left leg, too, then they'd really have something to stare at.

He’s also kind of bored. Sitting still and doing nothing is not something that Ed has ever excelled at. Searching for something to occupy his attention, he imitates the motions of several other people in the room and sets his legs in front of him in a wide vee. Folding his body over, he begins stretching out the backs of his legs.

It is then, just as he is bending forward, that the door of the studio swings open, and a man walks in. He is tall and handsome, sporting artfully styled dark hair above equally dark, almond eyes, set in a serious face with a chiseled jaw. Ed imagines that this guy must be quite used to his good looks getting him what he wants.

Which probably means he's a dick. That's usually how it goes in Ed's experience.

But honestly, none of that matters, because the newcomer is also wearing a fitted purple muscle tank that says “Namasté Positive” and a pair of black pants so tight that they almost appear to have been painted on.

That might not have been the best choice of attire for some people, but this guy, with his sculpted thighs, is more than capable of pulling them off. Dick or not (and _hah, insert dick joke here_ , Ed thinks), if this guy sticks around, Ed is going to have a really hard time focusing.

Tight-pants man pauses in the doorway, looking around the room and his eyes briefly catch Ed's. Their gaze holds for just a second and a tingle of something _utterly inappropriate_ for a yoga studio sizzles through Ed’s stomach.

Then the connection breaks as the man looks away. A hot flush that has nothing to do with the warmth of the room crawls up Ed's neck.

He blinks and swallows. There is a definite stirring in his lower body, which totally figures, doesn’t it, because he hasn’t even been interested in another person in months, and this is one of the least opportune scenarios for an erection.

Thankfully, Ed doesn’t seem to be the only one affected by the new presence in the studio; there is definitely an increase in the giggling and whispering coming from the people around him.

"Oh my god, is _Roy_ teaching today?" Envy whispers, sounding utterly delighted.

Roy, apparently, the instructor in criminally tight pants, walks to the front of the room, adjusting the music on the sound system and then the temperature on the thermostat, making the already boiling room even hotter, before turning to address the class.

"Good morning everyone. Sadly, your regular instructor, Rebecca, is out sick today, so I'll be guiding you through your class instead. Please let me know if you have any questions." Roy's voice is rich and deep, and it does some funny things to Ed's brain. "Now, if you'll all come down to the floor, let's begin in a child's pose."

Then Roy kneels on the mat at the front of the room and folds himself down, pressing his chest into his knees and laying his hands out in front of him, as if in supplication, directly in front of Ed.

The rest of the class follows suit, and Ed scrambles to rearrange himself, all the while feeling deeply grateful that his pants are nowhere near as tight as Roy's. 

* * *

The class is hell. Or rather, the class is fine but Roy is going to whatever hell is reserved for yoga instructors who are enjoying adjusting the positions of a student _just_ a bit too much.

The thing is that normally, this is the aspect of teaching yoga that he likes the least. Maintaining appropriate personal space between himself and his clients is important to Roy, and it isn’t like he has been enjoying getting his hands on everyone in the class. There are several advanced students in the room who are being intentionally sloppy with their poses today in hopes that he will correct them. He does, of course, because that is his job, but it is with brief nudges and professionally minimal contact.

Solaris, in particular is in fine form today, winking at him over her shoulder when Roy nudges her Lululemon-clad hips further forward during the cat stretch.

All of this is actually kind of irritating. Bikram yoga is hard and doing it right requires intense focus and inward attention to details. Not being fully present in their bodies or worse, intentionally doing things wrong, means that his students are putting themselves at risk for injury.

But the thing that is really getting under Roy’s skin is the new guy.

He is obviously new to yoga as well as the gym, but damn if he isn’t giving the poses all that he’s got. His forms are unpracticed and unsteady, and he wobbles a bit any time they go into a one-legged standing pose, but he has natural strength and surprisingly decent flexibility. Neither the metal arm, nor the matching leg that Roy encounters when he adjusts the man's foot position during an extended triangle stretch, seem to be getting in the way of him keeping up quite admirably with the rest of the class.

And yes, perhaps Roy's hands do linger a fraction of a second longer than is absolutely necessary. And maybe he likes the way the shorter man's muscles jump a bit under his hands every time they make contact, more than is really appropriate, but Roy is already using every ounce of his willpower to keep his ‘Confident Professional Yoga Teacher’ persona up and his thoughts from rolling straight into the gutter.

The threat of an entire class of clients seeing the owner of their gym getting hard is a pretty good deterrent in that regard, but it’s still not perfect. That’s how hot this guy is.

 _He’s a menace to society and he should not be allowed in public looking like that,_ Roy thinks as he reminds the class to focus on their breathing.

All the same, when he calls for a downward facing dog pose and the blond bends at the waist, planting his hands on the floor and presenting Roy with the most perfect ass on god's green earth, he actually has to bite the inside of his cheek almost until it bleeds in order to keep his composure.

By the time they reach the final savasana pose of the hour-long class, Roy is at the end of his wits. The students are all lying on their mats in varying states of meditation, while he freaks out internally.

Roy is more than ready to bolt straight out of the room, but the gym policy (which he is cursing himself for writing in the first place) forces him to remain in the studio until it empties. Slowly, the students get to their feet, drinking great gulps of water from bottles, mopping off sweaty brows, and rolling up their mats before leaving. He says goodbye to each one of them automatically, but his thoughts are a million miles away.

Because Roy is being punished for every bad thing he’s ever done all at once, the new guy is the last one out of the room. Of course. He takes his time mopping sweat off his brow with a small towel before rolling his mat up and tucking it under his arm. Roy lingers by the door, watching him without even meaning to, until the blond's gaze darts upwards and their eyes meet once more.

"Let me guess, first yoga class?" Roy asks quickly, to cover up his embarrassment at being caught staring.

"Yeah. That obvious, huh?" The blond says, ruefully, brushing sweaty bangs out of his flushed face.

 _Down boy,_ Roy thinks as his traitorous brain takes that image and extrapolates; going all sorts of filthy places with it.

"Actually you were very good. For... you know... your first time," Roy says with a grin.

New guy gives a snort of laughter, golden eyes flashing, and Roy's knees get a little weak.

"So I sucked, but not as bad as I could have, and you're just too polite to say so."

"No, I am being completely honest. I've definitely seen worse beginners. And I'm Roy, by the way," He says while trying to ignore the wild swooping feeling in his stomach.

"I’m Ed," says Ed as he walks over to collect his shoes.

“I have to admit, I'm impressed with how well you kept up, especially considering your arm and leg,” Roy says, and though he means it as a compliment, he regrets the words the second they leave his mouth.

Ed scowls, shoulders drawing tight and golden eyes flashing defensively, “With the Automail I can basically do whatever I want. I’m not fucking handicapped.”

 _Well, that was smooth_ , thinks Roy.

“Sorry, I should have said that differently; that was neither a backhanded compliment nor an insult,” Roy says quickly, “I've taught a number of people with prosthetics before and I know that they change your center of gravity a lot. They make yoga about ten times harder than it would be without them. I honestly am impressed with how effortless you made it look.”

Ed’s posture relaxes and color rises in his surprised face. He clears his throat before answering. “Oh. Huh. Thanks. The mechanic who built my Automail is fucking great, even if she is kind of a bully. They’re obviously still heavier than the real deal but they could be a hell of a lot worse. I also basically relearned how to move like a normal human when I was in physical therapy and this is really just more of the same. But the, uh... the breathing shit, that's new.”

Ed crosses the floor to exit the studio before Roy has a chance to respond. He pauses in the doorway and looks at Roy contemplatively. "You know, I'm still not sold on this whole yoga thing, but I didn't hate the class. So thanks, I guess."

Then he drapes his towel over his flesh shoulder and leaves, with a swish of his golden ponytail.

And Roy is left blinking after him, wondering if he is hoping that Ed will come back or praying for him to stay away.

* * *

Ed shuts the front door of his apartment behind him, shutting out the sticky heat of the late August air. He dumps the yoga mat and his duffle bag on the bench in the front hall, hoping that maybe Alphonse will still be at class.

"So?" asks Al as he bounds out of the kitchen, biochem textbook still in hand. "How was it?"

Ed groans. No such luck.

"You’re _way_ too invested in this," he says sourly.

"It's called brotherly concern. Now how was it? You actually look pretty relaxed for once, so I'm taking that as a good sign."

Ed idly massages the skin around the shoulder Automail port. As much as he hates to admit it, the yoga class had not been a total waste of his time. Nor had it been an hour of spiritual hippy shit and rolling around on the floor like a crazy person, which was honestly what he had been expecting.

It had actually been tough for him to keep up, and tougher still to remain focused on his body and staying present in the moment for the entire hour. He’d definitely had to work at it and that was not a bad thing in Ed’s book.

Having an IQ as high as Ed’s means that there really isn't a whole lot that he can't master quickly and with only minimal effort. Which is great for shit like accumulating degrees rapidly and dominating trivia nights at the bar, but it also mean that he gets bored fast. He had discovered within the first few moments of the class that yoga is as much a mental thing as a physical one, which was strange but definitely not unwelcome. The last time he encountered something like this was before the accident, when he and Al had both taken Judo at a local martial arts center.

Score one for yoga, much to Ed’s chagrin.

He is tired and achy in a way that says he will be very sore in the morning, but all things said and done, he feels pretty good. Better, if he’s being honest, than he has in a long time. It is the sort of tired-slash-sore combination that he is used to feeling after a good workout, but with a nice added layer of relaxation from all the meditation breathing. And his spine isn’t aching from the weight of the Automail arm pulling his body slightly to the right.

He’s also still feeling kind of low-level horny, though that has more to do with the instructor than the class itself.

The fact that Ed had spent the entire hour in anticipation of Roy’s hands on his body had not done his efforts to concentrate any favors. But who could blame him? Anyone would have struggled to focus with strong hands like those pulling and nudging them gently into the correct position. And then there was Roy’s voice, so deep and low that is was barely more than a rumble, as he directed Ed’s movements.

Ed can think of an pretty long list of scenarios in which he would be more than happy to let that voice command him, but in the yoga studio it had only served to play hell with his concentration.

Just thinking about it makes him flush a little and sends heat pooling low in his belly.

Al is still looking at him expectantly, so he clears his throat and shrugs.

"Could have been worse, I guess. The instructor was… interesting, though. Wore really tight pants."

Al grins at him. "Oh man, Rebecca. Yeah, she's pretty famous around the gym for those leggings. I’m surprised you noticed that, though."

"Nah, it wasn’t her. Some guy named Roy taught this class," Ed says, slipping by Al and heading for the kitchen to get a glass of water. They really weren’t kidding around – hot yoga is in fact hot and he is pretty sure that he sweated out half his bodyweight during the class.

"No way!" his brother says, following Ed into the brightly lit kitchen. “Roy Mustang taught your yoga class?”

"Yeah, that a big deal or something?" Ed replies as he digs through the fridge, looking for the water pitcher hidden amongst cartons of orange juice and almond milk.

Al props his hip against the counter. "Well, he's one of the owners of the gym, but he mostly does personal training. And his sessions are in _really_ high demand. Winry worked with him once or twice and she still talks about him sometimes. I thought about trying to work with him for a while too, but he's really booked up. I'm surprised that he had time to teach today."

Ed pours himself a glass of water and shrugs. "He was just covering for that Rebecca girl who was supposed to teach this class. But come on, enough about the yoga stuff. How was _your_ first day back in class?"

Ed is a master at derailing Al, and getting him to talk about school usually does the trick. This time is no different, and Al launches into a monologue about the complex theory that they are going to be studying in his advanced cellular biology course.

Al is starting the third year of his degree in biochemical engineering at the University of Amestris, and the intensity with which he has gone after his education is incredible to behold. Listening to his brother talk, Ed feels a vicious surge of joyful, delighted pride rising in his chest.

He almost lost Al when they were kids – the car crash that took so much from him very nearly took his brother too. Al had lain in a coma for nearly three years before finally waking up. The doctors had called it a miracle, but Ed always knew that it had far more to do with his brother’s strength of will than any sort of divine providence.

Having known what life would be like without Al, he is immensely grateful for every second of time they have now. Even if Al can be a devious, manipulative bastard at times, Ed wouldn't trade him for anything.

"So that means I'm gonna be in the lab sixteen hours a day for the next semester and it's gonna be awesome!" Al finishes, nearly vibrating with excitement.

Ed chuckles a little, a swell of fondness engulfing his chest. "Sounds great, Al. I'm glad you're looking forward to lab hell. Next time you see him, tell Dr. Marcoh I say hi. I don't miss that bastard’s classes, but I learned a shit-ton from him."

Al gives him a nod. "Sure thing. And speaking of saying hi, are you gonna say hi to Rebecca for me, since I'm clearly not going to be taking yoga – or having a life at all – for the foreseeable future?"

Ed really should have known better than to believe that his brother would give up this topic of conversation so easily.

"Uuugh, Al, you have a goddamn _fixation_." Ed whines.

"Come on, you didn't hate it, right?" Al asks.

"Yeah but it was kinda..." Ed trails off because honestly, he doesn’t really have a good objection. It’s really just the idea of admitting that his brother and Winry were right about _yoga_ not being terrible that is sticking in his craw. "I dunno. It's not really _me_ , you know?"

"Don't be silly, Ed. It seems like it helped with all the tension you’re carrying around and that's what really matters. I know you sit with really terrible posture all day while you're in the lab. Winry's right that you're gonna wind up all hunched and miserable if you don't take care of yourself. So why not keep going?"

And that is really all it takes, isn’t it? His little brother giving him the puppy dog eyes.

 _I’m such a fucking pushover_ , thinks Ed with a deep internal sigh, but what he says is, "Fucking fine, I'll give it a few more classes before I make up my mind. Just stop nagging."

 _And hey_ , his brain whispers, _maybe Roy and his pants will teach those too._

* * *

This is a mid-life crisis. Roy is having a mid-life crisis. That’s the only explanation.

It has been eight hours since Ed left. He’s taught another yoga class and held four particularly vicious training sessions that had all of his clients cursing him while they strained to perform the exercises he's set them to. And yet, he can’t seem to chase thoughts of Ed from his mind.

He has been oscillating between frustration and dreamy distraction all day and he actually walked into a door at one point because he was so out of it. That was when all the other trainers began to notice that something was up. They’d spent the rest of the day wearing concerned looks like they really wanted to ask what was wrong but were too afraid. He just knows that one of them is going to work up the courage to come pester him about it sooner or later.

Roy Mustang is cool, calm and collected; he doesn’t _do_ flustered.

At least he’s never done it before.

The thing is, in the space of a day Roy has developed a big fat crush on a guy that he's met once and only ever spoken a handful of (barely coherent) words to. He's not used to being in this position. Typically, Roy likes to swan up to a potential partner with all the suave charm and artful seduction tactics that he can muster, totally in control of the whole interaction from start to finish. Literally none of those things happened when he spoke to Ed.

In fact, he's pretty sure that for the first time ever, he was the one who had been seduced - and he’d be willing to bet good money that it wasn’t even on purpose. The indignity of it all is astounding.

He leans back against a wall in the office, looking upwards like he’ll find the answers he’s looking for written on the ceiling tiles, and groans.

 _I am being ridiculous,_ Roy thinks sourly.

“Is your blood sugar low?” asks Riza, sneaking up on him for the second time. “What’s gotten into you today?”

Rolling his head around to look at her, Roy heaves a dramatic sigh. “I wish it was that simple.”

Riza plants her hands on her hips and glares, not amused with his theatrics.

Stepping away from the wall, Roy shoves a hand through his hair. “Riza… I’m losing my mind.”

With a snort, she takes a seat on the medicine ball that she uses for an office chair. “We all knew it was only a matter of time. But seriously Roy, what’s the matter? You’ve been acting weird since you came in this morning.”

He could lie... well... he could try to lie, but Riza knows him better than literally anyone on the planet besides maybe Hughes, and she’s basically a human lie detector, so there’s not much point. She’ll get the truth out of him one way or another.

“I think it’s been too long since I got laid,” he says, mournfully. “There was a new student in the first yoga class who was so hot that I almost had a stroke when _he_ went into a downward dog.”

Riza snickers at him. The traitor. “Oh wow, it _has_ been too long. Roy Mustang getting all hot and bothered over a student; what is the world coming to?”

“Like it’s never happened to you,” Roy snaps, scowling fiercely.

“Of course it has, but compartmentalization is an important part of this job,” she says, growing serious.

“You think I don’t know that?” Roy shoots back. “This guy’s just… stupidly hot. And it’s making _me_ stupid. I’m not a fan, Riza.”

“Good god,” Riza says dryly, perfect deadpan firmly in place, “are you sure this isn’t terminal?”

“You’re a really terrible friend, you know that, right?” Roy grumbles.

Riza smiles wryly at him. “Honestly, I think you probably _have_ just been single for too long. You’re letting that get into your head. Go on a couple dates. Get it out of your system and you’ll be fine. Who is this guy anyway?”

Roy drops heavily into his desk chair, swiveling it idly from side to side. “Did you see the blond guy in the first yoga class this morning? The one with the Automail arm?”

Riza’s eyes widen fractionally in surprise. “Ed? You mean you were falling all over yourself over _Edward Elric_?” She asks, leaning forward.

“You know him?” Roy says, suddenly on high alert.

“Sort of. Or at least, I know _of_ him. His Automail mechanic is one of my clients and she’s been trying to get him to come in here for a yoga class for almost a year now. According to her, he has a bunch of degrees and he’s some kind of super genius, but he’s really bad at taking care of himself.” She pauses, realization dawning. “Oh god, Roy, _please_ tell me you didn’t screw up the class so badly that he’s never going to come back. If you did I’m never going to hear the end of it from Winry…”

Roy huffs. “For your information, I held it together admirably, under the circumstances. He even told me that he didn’t hate the class.”

“Well that’s a ringing endorsement if I’ve ever heard one.” Riza mutters, sarcasm dripping from her voice. She’s looking off to the side, wearing her damage control planning expression. It’s one that Roy is very familiar with and it involves a lot of grimacing and furrowed eyebrow action.

“If he doesn’t come back it’s not because of something I did. I swear I was a consummate professional the whole class, no matter how badly I wanted not to be,” says Roy petulantly before letting his lips twitch up into a smirk, because while he should know better at this point, he really can’t seem to resist the opportunity to wind his business partner up. “But Riza… you don’t even understand. His ass is so nice that it shouldn’t even be legal.”

“Ugh, too much information, Mustang.” Says Riza, pulling a face, “If he does come back, just promise me that you’ll do your best not to be weird, okay?”

“I am never weird,” says Roy, “I’m charming.”

“Whatever you say,” Riza says, rolling her eyes.

* * *

In the end, Ed goes back to Alchemy Fitness on Friday morning. It’s the next day that he actually has time to do yoga, and the Seven Thirty class (plus a very necessary shower afterwards) fits neatly in his schedule before his quantum physics lecture at noon.

He’s spent the interim days reaping the benefits of having actually stretched and relaxed his muscles, but by Thursday evening he can feel things beginning to tighten and knot back up. So, without telling anyone, he goes online and signs himself up for a class the next morning.

Al catches him in his workout gear on his way out the door and gives him a knowing look of approval, but is thankfully silent on the gloating front. Ed would be willing to bet good money that his asshole brother will be texting Winry ferociously the second the door shuts behind him, though.

The gym is fairly busy this morning. A group of sorority girls in matching shirts have commandeered most of the treadmills and many of the weight machines are currently being employed by people in various university team shirts. Ed supposes that it makes sense, seeing as how the campus is less than a block away. The university does have its own gym, and it’s not terrible – Ed had actually been working out there before he started coming here – but this place is much nicer.

Through the pair of frosted glass doors that separate the Crossfit Course from the weight room, Ed can hear the sounds of music and a woman’s voice barking orders, followed by grunts of effort.

Like before, Ed checks in at the front desk and then makes his way through the gym, turning into the door of the yoga studio, and pausing in the entryway to remove his shoes.

Most of the class is different this time, but he spies the familiar figures of Envy in yet another crop-top, and the busty woman from the first class. Once more the two of them are sitting side by side, sniping at each other. This, as far as Ed can tell, is just how they operate.

“You know that the man-bun look isn’t cute, right?” the woman is saying, as she tugs on Envy’s topknot with manicured fingers, “It makes you look like a hipster and you’re way too old to pull that off successfully.”

“Fucking stop it, Solaris. First of all, you uncultured walnut, it’s not a man-bun, it’s just a bun. Second, you owned a crimping iron in high school, so I don’t think you have the right to comment on anyone else’s hair,” Envy says, swatting her hand away.

Solaris’s painted lips curl into a smirk. “Ah, but you see, some of us grew out of being fashion disasters. And then there’s you.”

Envy makes an indignant sound while Ed unrolls his mat, once again finding himself in the very front of the room, across from the instructor’s spot. He pretends not to notice the little thrill that runs through him, as the thought crosses his mind that there’s a chance Roy might be teaching this class too.

The schedule says that the instructor is Rebecca Catalina, but who knows? It said the same thing last time. Maybe she’s still sick?

As it turns out, Rebecca is present and accounted for this time. She bounces into the class with a cheerful greeting a few minutes later, and Ed tells himself that he’s not disappointed to see her. After all, he’s here for yoga, not to ogle some guy that he’s been secretly fantasizing about for the last week.

True to Al’s words, Rebecca’s pants are nearly as tight as the ones that Roy was wearing, but they do nothing for Ed.

Unsurprising, really, seeing as how Ed is gay.

He spent a while in high school – after Al woke up from the coma and he suddenly felt like he was allowed to have his life back – trying to work up an interest in dating women, but it just never came. So for a bit, he thought that maybe he was asexual and, honestly? Ed was cool with that.

Sex clouded his friends’ judgment and made them make all kinds of bad choices. Ed had decided that not being interested would certainly make his life simpler.

Then Ling had come along and thoroughly disproved that theory. Under the right circumstances, Ed was definitely interested in sex. Just… not with women.

His relationship with Ling had happened in his freshman year of college and it took him by surprise. Ling, like Ed, had entered university at sixteen and as far as Ling was concerned, that made them kindred spirits from the start. He had pursued Ed, undeterred by the blond's attitude, fake limbs, or lack of apparent interest in anything other than his physics classes.

Eventually, Ed had become curious. He’d wondered what it was that he was missing and he’d started to try to see Ling the way Al always talked about seeing Winry.

And one day, when they had been lounging in Ling’s dorm room, watching the Discovery Channel, Ed had looked over and seen Ling, profile illuminated in the late afternoon sun, smiling slightly, and he had _understood_.

After things had ended with Ling, Ed had pursued a couple of casual flings, but nothing of any real consequence. Both had left him unsatisfied and he wound up spending more time feeling self-conscious about his prosthetics than actually enjoying himself. So after leaving the second guy’s dorm room, he decided that the casual encounters weren’t actually worth it after all. Since starting his PhD last year, he simply hasn’t found anyone who actually piqued his interest enough to merit spending time on them instead of his studies.

But anyway.

Despite the fact that his two year period of celibacy has been self-imposed, it is still probably to blame for the fact that Roy and his tight pants are lodged in Ed’s brain.

Rebecca’s class features basically the same flow of poses that Roy used, give or take a few, and Ed is better able to follow along this time, though Rebecca does have to nudge and direct him every once in awhile during the lesson. Once more, when the class is through, Ed feels pretty good; relaxed, pleasantly exhausted, and limber. But it’s not quite the same.

If he’s being honest, Rebecca’s teaching style just doesn’t resonate with him quite as well as Roy’s had. She explains things less clearly and talks far more than is really necessary. And, well… she’s not Roy. Her hands are small, boney, and somehow cold even in the hundred-degree heat of the room. And her voice, while peppy and pleasant, lacks the soothing timbre of Roy’s.

Ed mops his brow with his towel and gnaws on his lower lip. if he really wanted to, he could investigate private lessons with Roy. That is an option. But even if Ed could get an appointment with him, private yoga lessons sound an awful lot like the sort of thing that only the ridiculous hipsters that he despises so much would actually invest in.

 _And if Winry found out..._ he thinks with a horrified shudder.

Besides, there were surely other classes taught by equally capable instructors that he should at least try before deciding that the only way he is going to do yoga is with Roy Mustang guiding him.

No, he decides, the better plan is for him to simply try some of the other instructors. Hopefully one of them will be a passable substitute for Roy and he can reap the benefits of loose muscles and relaxation while relegating his original yoga instructor to the space of his mind where he stores fantasy material.

That thought catches Ed off guard, making him blush.

Because, well. He knows that he’s been doing it, but he’s also been trying not to think too hard about it. He’s not really the kind of guy who just… feels attracted to people like this on the regular. This is highly unusual. So yeah, it’s best not to overanalyze his thoughts, and to just go on with his life, tacitly not acknowledging what’s actually going on. And what it could possibly mean.

That way lies danger.

Ed blinks and looks around. Once more he is the last person left in the room besides the instructor and he has been standing in place, staring blankly into space like a moron while Rebecca patiently waits for him to leave.

“You got too deep in the meditation, didn’t you?” she says knowingly, as he begins stuffing his water bottle and towel into his duffle bag.

“Uh, sure,” says Ed dumbly before he stumbles towards the exit, pausing only long enough to snag his shoes from the rack by the door.

He stuffs his feet into the tennis shoes, completely ignoring the shoelaces in favor of just jamming his feet straight in. Fine motor skills are fucking difficult with metal fingers and anything involving string or small buttons is out. When he's not working out, Ed prefers to wear his motorcycle boots, which have no fasteners at all and are therefore ideal in his book.

The back of his shoe gets folded down and caught under his left foot and Ed struggles briefly to get it free without crushing the fingers of his left hand, before glancing around the gym. There’s a big white board with all of the classes listed on it that hangs over the front desk and Ed figures that now is as good a time as any to see what his options are.

The girl manning the front desk that day has brown hair and huge, black-rimmed glasses. She’s also buried nose-deep in a book and Ed has to clear his throat three times before she looks up. She’s wearing a name tag that says “Sheska” pinned to the chest of her Alchemy Fitness t-shirt.

“Oh! Sorry, didn’t see you there. Do you need help?” Sheska asks.

Ed leans against the counter. “Yeah, which morning yoga classes have space open besides the Bikram one?”

“Well, let’s see… there’s a seven o’clock meditation class on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, a Vinyasa class at the same time on Tuesday-Thursday, then on Saturday and Sunday there’s an eight o’clock Restorative class. All of them have space free,” she says, all in one breath and without so much as a glance at the schedule. “Do you want to sign up for one of those?”

“Who teaches the Vinyasa classes?” Ed asks, blinking in response to the information dump.

“Oh that would be Kain Fuery. He’s great. Really sweet guy,” Sheska says brightly.

Ed scratches his chin with his left hand. To be honest, he’d overlooked the Vinyasa classes the first time around because they sounded like they had a higher potential for alternative medicine-naturopath bullshit than hot yoga. But it is just one class. It can’t hurt to try. And he supposes that he can switch back if he hates it.

After all, Rebecca isn’t bad, and it’s not her fault that she isn’t Roy.

With a shrug, Ed says, “What the hell, sign me up.”

* * *

Roy has spent the last week both eagerly anticipating and totally dreading mornings at the gym.

He has also taken to walking back and forth very slowly outside of the yoga studio while Fuery’s teaching his early Vinyasa classes. Like every other door in the gym, the door of the studio is made of frosted glass, but the word ‘Yoga’ has been left clear. If Roy is very careful he can sometimes catch a glimpse of Ed through the letters.

Which he knows is weird and unbelievably inappropriate – where _is_ his sense of professionalism? – but he cannot seem to stop doing it.

After the fourth time he passes by the studio that morning, Riza corners him and threatens to beat him up if he doesn’t stop being creepy.

“Even if you’re not actually going to get any work done, could you at least pretend not to be a total pervert for a whole hour?” she snaps before handing him a massive pile of trainer time sheets. “Why don’t you go make yourself useful before someone in that class notices you being a peeping tom and decides to sue us or something?”

Reluctantly, he acknowledges her point and slinks off to the office. Riza follows after him and closes the door in their wake.

“Why don’t you just ask him out? You’re not his trainer so there’s no issue,” she says. “Obviously you are head over heels for him, and watching you pine is getting pathetic.”

Roy dumps the timesheets on his desk and sighs. “That would be weird, wouldn’t it?”

Riza raises an eyebrow. “And staring at him through a door while he does yoga is normal?”

“… You have a point,” Roy says before sitting down and propping his chin on his hand. “But I just wish I had any excuse to talk to him again that isn’t contrived and awkward.”

Cocking her head to one side, Riza looks thoughtful. “Why not start teaching a morning yoga class? I think he liked you better than Rebecca; he switched to the Vinyasa class after only one session with her. If you taught a class I bet he’d take it.”

Roy smiles a little. “Well, that would be nice and all, but that would mean taking a class away from one of the other trainers and I don’t want to do that.”

“Hmm. True. It wouldn’t be fair to them. Shame the private studios aren’t large enough for a full class… then we could double up and hold two classes at 9…” Riza says, her eyes getting a sort of dreamy look. She’s probably imagining profit increases.

“Well, if that were the case then we’d probably already be doing that, and we’d need to hire another instructor. I’m not sure we could afford that…” Roy sighs. “But this is a moot point because those studios are only big enough to hold three people max.”

Just then, the door to the office bangs open, interrupting their conversation, and Olivier Armstrong, the head of Alchemy’s Crossfit department and possibly the scariest person that Roy has ever met, comes striding into the room.

“Hawkeye. Mustang.” She says, by way of greeting.

“Morning, Olivier. How was boot camp today?” Roy asks.

Olivier drapes herself into her desk chair as if it’s a throne and crosses her legs.

“Weak and pathetic. Two of them cried,” she says, then the corner of her lips curls just slightly. “But no one threw up this time, so maybe they’re beginning to show some promise after all.”

“Oh. Fantastic,” says Roy, faintly. She might look like a supermodel but he’s pretty sure that Olivier could snap any and all of them like twigs, if she so chose, and the only reason she has not done so yet is that it suits her purposes for them to remain alive.

Very abruptly the time sheets become intensely interesting to Roy. He busies himself with sorting them out while Riza and Olivier get caught up in a discussion about scheduling for the next month.

“But you won’t have any days off,” he hears Riza say at one point.

Olivier’s only response is, “Good. Days off just make you weak.”

By the time that Roy has entered all of the trainers’ hours into the payroll system, taking frequent breaks to check Facebook and to doodle a rather decent portrait of Riza’s dog Hayate in his planner, the Vinyasa class has long since ended. Both Hawkeye and Olivier have gone to attend to other duties elsewhere in the gym, leaving him alone in the office.

Roy stands and stretches, vertebrae all popping, and runs a hand through his hair. Glancing around and seeing no obvious tasks that have to be taken care of that second _and_ by him in particular, Roy decides that he’s definitely done his fair share of the work for today. He considers going to the kitchen to make himself a green smoothie, or perhaps to try one of the new power bars that he bought the night before. But he never quite makes it there.

As soon as Roy steps into the weight room he catches sight of Ed, having what appears to be a very frustrating conversation with Sheska.

Ed’s hair is damp, turned antique gold by the lingering water, and it hangs loose about his shoulders. He’s wearing street clothes this time, black jeans, a black t-shirt, and a pair of black motorcycle boots with obnoxiously red soles. He has his duffle bag slung over his left shoulder and he’s holding a black and red leather jacket in his Automail hand. With all of his attitude, it’s somehow fitting that Ed dresses like a punk.

He must have used the showers after his class in order to be here so late. Roy immediately regrets that line of thought because there is a distinct tightening in his groin at the thought of Ed’s naked, muscular body standing in a cascade of hot water.

 _Get it together_ , he thinks, _before you make an ass of yourself._

“You’re sure there are no _other_ morning yoga classes?” Ed asks, lips twisting a little with displeasure.

“Sorry Edward, but that’s it. Some gyms like to mix it up, but we let our instructors pick their hours so the schedule’s not likely to change any time soon,” Sheska says apologetically.

“Damn it.” Ed growls, brow furrowing.

“Are you unhappy with your Vinyasa class? Did Fuery do something to upset you?” she asks, worried.

Ed rubs at the bridge of his nose. “No, it’s fine, I guess I just miss being pushed a little harder… the hot yoga class was great for that, but I didn’t really click with the teacher.”

It is then that Riza materializes seemingly from nowhere, which appears to be her preferred method of entering conversations these days.

“You must be Edward,” she says, catching the blond man by surprise.

“Yeah, that’s me. And since you know who I am, I guess that would make you Winry’s trainer. Hawkeye, right?” he replies, connecting the dots.

Riza gives him a sharp nod. “Winry told me the other day that she’s thrilled you’ve taken so well to yoga. I’m glad for the opportunity to finally meet you.”

Ed smiles at her, wide and genuine. “Same. I like anyone who gives Winry hell on a regular basis.”

Riza is too much of a professional to laugh at the expense of her client, but Roy sees that it actually takes some effort for her to keep a straight face. He realizes that he is currently lurking by a triceps extension machine and he should probably make his presence known, but this talk has the potential to be interesting, so he opts to bide his time instead.

From this vantage point, he’s just close enough to hear what's being said and he has not yet been spotted by either of the blonds. Ed is turned mostly away from him, but Roy can see just enough of the man’s face to read the emotions that flow like water across its surface.

“I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but it did sound like you were unhappy just now, and we take customer service very seriously here. Is there anything that I might be able to do for you?” Riza asks, and damn, if Roy could only just get his mojo back then _he_ could be that smooth around Ed too.

Ed bites his lip for a second and Roy thinks, _oh my god why is that so hot?_

“To be honest,” Ed says after a moment, “I’m not sure. The only time that I can come in is early in the morning, but I’m really not connecting with any of the available yoga instructors.”

“Have you considered private lessons?” Riza asks. “We have a lot of trainers who only do individual sessions and one of them might be a better fit for you.”

Ed blushes and looks down at his feet for a minute. “I have but… it just feels kind of ridiculous. Uh. No offense,” he says.

Riza actually does laugh a bit at that one. “None taken. Though you might actually want to give it some real consideration. Your Automail will let you keep up very well with a class. But in the long run, there are certain poses that you probably shouldn’t do because of the risk of injury. On the other hand, there are several more unusual poses that do not make it into flows very often that might actually help you quite a bit with long term pain management. A class will never cover that, but a private instructor will.”

Ed gives her a measuring look, as if weighing her words in his mind.

“Well… I guess it can’t hurt to try, but you can _never tell_ Winry. Ugh, she’s a menace already. She’ll be fucking impossible if she hears about this. Are you offering to take me on as a client too?” Ed asks.

With an apologetic smile, Riza shakes her head. “I’d love to, but sadly I’m all booked up during the mornings.”

Ed runs a hand through his hair in a frustrated gesture. “My whole life revolves around my PhD right now, so early mornings are it for me. Somehow my schedule got fucked up and all my classes – including the ones I'm teaching – are in the middle of the day. And I’d go after class, but that’s when I’m in the lab. This whole thing totally blows.”

“That is unfortunate, but we can definitely make something work.” She turns to Sheska. “Can you give me the trainer book, please?”

Sheska scrambles to find the thin binder that holds all of the information on the personal trainers and private instructors who operate out of the gym, but before she can even locate it, Roy hears Ed ask, softer than any of his previous statements, “Wait, there’s no chance Roy is free at all, is there? I liked the class he taught.”

The bottom drops completely out of Roy’s stomach. _Ed liked his class._

One of Riza’s eyebrows arches upwards. “You want to work with Roy?”

Ed shrugs nonchalantly, ever so slightly too casual, not meeting Riza's eyes. “Or you know, whoever. I was just curious. I heard that he’s really busy, anyway.”

“That’s true.” Riza says, taking the book that Sheska has finally managed to locate and is holding out for her. “I’m not sure Roy’s taking on anyone new right now…”

This is approximately when Roy’s brain turns itself off and his body begins operating on it’s own. Still standing by the weight machine he waves his arms above his head, trying to get Riza’s attention, and praying that he does not attract Ed’s by accident in the process.

Several of the other patrons glance nervously at him. But the waving does the trick, and Riza's brown eyes meet his over Ed’s shoulder.

She gives him a ‘what the fuck?’ look, and he points to Ed nodding rapidly, giving her a thumbs up.

With a skeptical expression on her face and a stilted tone of voice, she says, “Oh wait… I have just remembered that Roy actually does have some free morning spots?”

“Really?” Ed asks eagerly, not seeming to register her change in tone. “What are those times like?”

Riza looks at Roy again and her eyebrows are so high that they’re vanishing into her hairline. “Uh…” she says and Roy holds up seven fingers followed by three, and then nine. “Seven, three, and nine?” She says.

“Three? As in three in the morning?” Ed asks, sounding scandalized.

“Yes,” Riza says flatly, “He’s a weird guy.”

This isn’t working; clearly he and Riza _do not_ have a psychic connection. The seven followed by the three was _obviously_ meant to be seven thirty. But whatever.

Roy scrubs his hand over his face and decides that if he’s going to do this, he might as well dive right in head first.

He steps out from behind the weight machine and walks towards the pair of blonds.

“Riza, I was just looking for – oh, I didn’t see you there, Ed,” Roy says in the steadiest voice he can muster. It’s almost convincing. Almost.

“Isn’t that funny,” says Riza, not sounding even remotely amused, “we were just talking about you.”

* * *

 _I chose this,_ Ed reminds himself for the hundredth time since his first private session with Roy began. _I made my damn bed and now I get to lie in it like the masochist I am._

“Hold that position for ten sloooooow breaths,” Roy says, pushing gently against Ed’s back to get him to lean further forwards. There is a cotton shirt in between Roy’s palm and Ed’s skin, but he might as well be naked for all the good the useless garment is doing as a shield. He feels every point of contact between them like a flame.

If he makes it through this session alive, he’s going to need the longest, coldest shower in the history of the universe.

“Very good,” Roy’s voice rumbles.

Ed says nothing, trying to focus on keeping his balance, then on breathing, and when neither of those things provides an adequate distraction from Roy, he begins trying to solve complex differential equations in his head.

In the last fifteen minutes it has become abundantly clear to Ed that private yoga lessons with Roy are a different animal than yoga classes with Roy.

For one thing, this is not a pure yoga class. It is something of a hybrid between physical therapy and hot yoga; an idea that Roy had brought up as a good option for addressing all of Ed’s various issues (the physical ones anyway) in the space of two 90 minute appointments a week.

At the time, it had seemed like a great idea to Ed. He is living to regret ever agreeing to this.

Of course, the other big difference between the class and this session is the utter lack of anyone else in the room. Never in a million years did Ed think he would miss the sound of Envy and Solaris bickering with each other, but desperate times and all that.

The thing that Ed hadn’t counted on is that without the rest of the class there, he has no buffer between himself and Roy. There is no one to share the instructor’s attention with, so there is no time when it isn’t focused completely on Ed. In the quiet of the small studio, he is keenly aware of exactly how sweaty and close and _alone_ they really are. More than once he honestly considers making his excuses and bolting.

The only thing keeping him here in this self-imposed hell is the knowledge that he is finally going to leave a yoga session feeling as good as he did the first time. And that’s too tantalizing a prospect for him to walk – or run – away from, no matter how badly he might want to.

“Now,” says Roy, who has gone back over to his own mat and is standing in the same position as Ed, “drop your arms to the ground and let your back leg come up, control the movement, and be sure to keep it straight. Go slowly and focus on your breathing.”

Ed watches Roy perform the motions that he has just described and then struggles to copy them without falling over.

“Leg straighter and higher, Edward,” Roy chastises him. “You should feel the energy of this pose flowing like a river all the way from the top of your head to the tip of your toes.”

Ed’s lips curl a little in disgust. “What fucking energy, Mustang? And this is as straight and high as it gets.”

He fires off a couple of shots at once, hoping that at least one will hit its mark. Trading barbs with Roy might not be textbook good yoga behavior but it’s certainly a great distraction from how much his leg is shaking right now.

“That kind of negative thinking is going to hold you back from reaching true relaxation,” Roy says evenly.

“No offense but I’m having a hard time taking direction from someone wearing an ‘I’m Just Here For The Savasana’ shirt. What does that even mean?” Ed asks.

“If you’re being sarcastic, you’re not focusing on your breathing,” Roy tells him with a sniff, as if he is only just avoiding rising to Ed’s baiting about his wardrobe choices. He comes out of his pose to adjust Ed again. “This won’t work the way you want it to unless you open yourself up to it.”

And that’s. Well. Really, it’s so obnoxious that Ed wants to barf. He doesn’t think that Roy was this irritating in the class either. Or this mean.

The private session lets Roy nitpick at Ed’s form all he wants, which is great from a practical standpoint because Ed does believe that there’s no reason to do this if he’s going to half-ass it. But sometimes Roy’s just so irritatingly _yoga-y_. And sadistic. Because Ed’s pretty bendy for a twenty-two year old guy, but he’s not nearly as bendy as Roy seems to think he is.

Suddenly there’s a large, warm hand on Ed’s thigh, pushing it upwards. The only thing that keeps him from leaping out of his fucking skin and away from Roy, before he does something really stupid, is the fact that the stretch of his muscle deepens just to the point where it rides the edge of pain. It’s the familiar sensation of his body telling him that if he goes any further he will hurt himself, but if he stays put he will actually get a good stretch.

“Like that,” Roy says gently.

Ed grunts, the snappy comeback getting caught behind his teeth as his body begins to tremble a little with the exertion of staying in the pose.

“Don’t hold your breath or you’ll pass out,” Roy says. “Remember, when you lock up you’re not relaxing your muscles.”

Ed might pass out alright, but it won’t be from not breathing.

“Whoever decided that this was supposed to be relaxing was psychotic,” he mutters before taking a deep breath in through his nose and then letting it escape past his lips.

Roy snorts a laugh. “If that’s the case, then what does that say about you, seeing how you keep coming back? Now lower your leg… slowly! Yes, like that.”

Ed does as he’s commanded this time without any commentary. Roy does have a point, much as he hates to admit it. 

* * *

They begin their fifth session with seated meditation. Or Roy tries to, anyway. To say that Ed objects strenuously to this idea would be the understatement of the century.

When Roy tells him to get seated in a lotus position on his mat, Ed says, “Oh hell no, I am not doing any more of this hippy meditation shit,” and remains standing.

“We’re not going to sit around and chant nonsense, if that’s what you’re afraid of. It’s just breathing exercises and meditation,” Roy says, pinching the bridge of his nose as he feels a headache coming on.

Ed had walked in that morning, complaining about a stiff neck, his dissertation, and a dumb argument that he is having with his brother over whether or not they are getting a cat. What that all boils down to is a majorly stressed and tense Ed. If they dive right into working out, there’s a good chance that Ed will either spend the whole session up in his own head and not get anything out of it, pull a muscle because he’s too tense, or both.

“I did enough of this in the Vinyasa class and I don’t want to fucking waste my time just sitting around. I can do that at home and it’s boring,” Ed says petulantly. “I told you the other day, it’s bad enough when you make me hold long poses. I’m not doing this.”

This is rapidly getting out of hand, and Roy realizes that what started as an attempt to get Ed to relax is quickly turning into a far more dangerous situation that he is really prepared for.

“Edward,” Roy says, pitching his voice low and serious, in the way that he used to when he was in the military and the men under his command were being insubordinate, “sit on that mat and get ready to meditate.”

“Fucking make me, you bastard,” Ed snaps, golden eyes flashing with a spark of real anger. His face is flushed and his lips pulled back the tiniest bit in the beginning of a snarl.

If anyone else had said that to him, Roy would have ejected them from the gym without a second thought. But those words from Ed’s lips are like a spark igniting a fuse inside of Roy’s brain, and rational thought flies straight out the window. The taunting challenge of Ed’s body language is screaming to something primal and hungry in Roy. It’s enough to send fire surging through his veins and desire pooling low in his stomach.

Roy wants to grab Ed and tackle him to the mat.

He wants to pull him close and never let go.

Roy wants to press their mouths together and lick his way inside the heat behind Ed’s bared teeth. More than anything, he wants to make Ed’s legs go weak so that he’ll have to hold onto Roy if he wishes to remain standing.

What Roy wants would not just be a kiss, it would be an all out conquest, with Ed’s acquiescence as the spoils. He clenches his fists so tightly that his blunt nails dig into the meat of his palm, and fights for control. It takes a monumental effort, but he is victorious in the end.

Squaring his shoulders, Roy stalks towards Ed until there is only about a foot between their noses. This close he can feel Ed’s breath wafting across his face and the tension in the room builds until it could be cut with a knife.

“If you do not want to get on the floor by yourself, I can always pick you up and put you there,” Roy says in an artificially calm voice, glaring at his client. “But we are not doing anything today if you do not begin by meditating. It would be irresponsible of me to let you continue. It’s your choice.”

There is a moment when Roy thinks that Ed might keep pushing. That he might actually call Roy’s bluff. The thing is, Roy could take him. He has the skills to flip Ed over his hip, catch him and deposit him on the mat before the younger man even knows what’s hit him.

But this is a yoga lesson, not the military. If Ed decides that he’d really rather lose a day of yoga than meditate, Roy will let him. His heart is beating a staccato in his chest, pounding so loud that he’s positive Ed can hear it.

Thankfully, Ed relents, looking away from Roy and getting to the floor with a great deal of grumbling.

“Fuck you. And fuck your meditation too,” Ed says.

“Just five minutes,” says Roy, stepping back, heartbeat slowly beginning to return to normal, “then we can get to work.”

“Whatever,” Ed replies, as he crosses his legs and rests his hands on his knees. “Are we doing this or not?”

Roy has to work hard not to smile as he takes a seat on his own mat. How very much like Ed, to go from snarling and snapping that he’s never going to do something, to acting as if it was his idea all along.

Ed is very cat-like, which, Roy supposes, is probably the reason that he does not want to own one.

* * *

They’ve been doing this private yoga session thing for a while now when Roy starts in on him about his eating habits. Which Ed will admit _could_ be better, but most of the time food is such a secondary consideration to studying that it’s really hard for him to even care. Food is just fuel to keep his body from collapsing and while he _certainly_ appreciates a good meal, if he _has_ to live on instant noodles and whatever he can get out of the vending machine in the science building, then he definitely will.

But Roy seems determined to change that.

“Have you ever considered going vegan?” Roy asks as he is helping Ed position his legs properly for the frog pose, a stretch that’s supposed to open his hips. “I think it could really help you get more in touch with yourself, and I’ve found that it’s a very sustainable and satisfying way of maintaining a healthy diet.”

In this position, Ed finds himself resting on his forearms and knees, with his ass up in the air and his legs bent at a strange angle behind him. In short, it’s a very suggestive and bizarre pose to be in. He’s supposed to be relaxing, but honestly, this pose is just making him feel like an idiot who’s about five seconds away from massively embarrassing himself.

Roy’s perfectly formed hands – which connect to Roy's wrists (which are also perfect, even covered as they are in all of his stupid braided-hemp bracelets) which are connected to _Roy –_  gently pressing against his back and tugging his hips up are really not doing him any favors either.

Ed never thought he would feel this way, but for the first time ever, he’s unbelievably glad to hear someone begin to talk about being a vegan. Because in his opinion, veganism is almost hilariously flawed from an evolutionary standpoint.

He likes to argue. It’s fun and if he picks his battles carefully he can usually win, despite not being a very smooth talker. This is because he’s almost frighteningly intelligent and has kind of an encyclopedia of scientific facts stored in his brain.

The thing is, despite all that, he has yet to win an argument against Roy. That hasn’t stopped him from trying, of course. Roy is fun to argue with. But it is the very same thing that makes him such an enjoyable verbal sparring partner that also makes him hard to beat; the bastard is just too crafty.

But Ed has a good feeling about this one.

Plus, getting into an argument is much better than being forced to stew silently over the fact that he’s uncomfortably attracted to his yoga instructor.

“Why the actual fuck would I want to go vegan?” Ed asks.

Roy makes this “tch” sound, and Ed has to fight back a grin.

 _Bring it, you bastard_ , he thinks.

“Because, _Edward_ , when you are vegan it forces you to be more conscious of what you are putting into your body. You can’t just go around eating carelessly when you have decided to cut out animal products,” Roy tells him and despite picking this fight on purpose, Ed actually does chafe a bit at how fucking superior Roy sounds.

And the fact that he seems to have started using Ed’s full name whenever he wants to prove a point. Ed has been Ed since forever and the only people who call him anything else are his sorry excuse for a father, Winry’s grandmother, Pinako, who basically raised him and Al after the accident. Also sometimes Al and Winry, when they think that Ed is being an ass.

“And if maintained properly, a diet of plant-based–“ Roy is saying, but Ed interrupts him.

“Look, you can buy into the talking points all you want. But it has been scientifically proved that being a vegan is not actually good for you. When you don't eat animal products – which, by the way, your digestive system is designed to process thanks to billions of years of evolution – you’re not getting enough shit like… oh, I don’t know… amino acids, creatine, carnosine, vitamin B-12… I could go on. So basically you’re just being dumb.”

Ed glances up quickly and he’s rewarded with the sight of Roy making a face like he’s just swallowed a lemon.

_Fucking golden._

“That’s what supplements are for. And it’s not just about health, _Edward_ , it’s also about generally respecting your place in the universe and all the lives around you,” Roy says in a very snippy voice.

“Well that’s fantastic, but I’m going to respect my place in the universe by respecting my place in the food chain as a proud omnivore. You know, as nature fucking intended.”

Roy is scowling for real now and Ed is totally delighted. Ed had known that this argument was his from the outset, but _damn does it feel fantastic to finally score a point_.

“I think camel pose is next,” Roy says, after he’s done sulking.

When a few seconds later Ed is kneeling on the ground and bending over backwards, he’s pretty sure that Roy is just being petty.

But hey, at least Ed’s no longer thinking about how hot Roy is, right?

_Never mind._

Somehow not even the vegan thing is doing anything to dull Roy Mustang’s shine. Ed is so screwed.

* * *

For a guy with metal limbs Ed can bend pretty well, but unsurprisingly, the leg that ends in Automail is far tighter than its flesh counterpart. Roy has had Ed working on increasing the flexibility and range of motion for that leg since they began the private sessions, since loosening the tightened muscles and tendons will help aleviate some of the pain that Ed has mentioned experiencing in his lower back. But after a month, progress is slower than he had hoped.

Which is why Roy suggests that they try a partner stretch to finish off this session.

Unfortunately, this particular stretch is awkward, even with a partner to whom Roy is not attracted, and with Ed, awkward doesn’t even begin to cover it. The whole thing feels far too intimate, and it’s downright torturous.

This is a position that Roy has thought about seeing Ed in many times over the last few weeks, but usually those fantasies involve a lot less clothing and a lot more making out.

He has to keep his body carefully angled away from Ed’s to prevent the burgeoning hardness in his pants from accidentally making contact. Roy wants Ed with a ferocious ache that is nearly all-consuming, but because Ed is a client who has showed no interest in him, he is firmly off limits.

 _And who’s fault is that? Oh yeah. Mine,_ Roy thinks bitterly.

So, naturally, Roy reacts by using humor to deflect the tension.

“I think your chakras are out of alignment,” he says, giving Ed a smug grin, “it’s probably why you’re so short.”

“I’m fucking average sized, you gigantic bag of dicks,” Ed snarls back, flushing so intensely that Roy half expects to see steam coming out of his ears. “And your face is about to be out of alignment if you don’t stop giving me shit all the time.”

“Sorry, sorry. I couldn’t resist,” Roy says with a chuckle.

“Yeah whatever, laugh it up asshole.” Ed looks away from him, glaring into the corner of the studio.

He is lying on his back while Roy kneels over his right leg gently pressing his left one up and towards his supine body.

“Do you seriously believe in that crap?” Ed asks, after a beat of silence.

“What?” Roy asks. “Do I believe in chakras?”

Ed nods. “Yeah, and the other spiritualism nonsense.”

Roy shrugs as he lays Ed’s leg back down and then climbs over the Automail limb to stretch his other leg out.

“Well, I certainly believe some of it and I wouldn’t exactly call it nonsense. There is energy beyond what we can see and measure in the universe, energy that connects and flows through all living beings."

Ed snorts, but Roy ignores him, choosing instead to focus on lifting the Automail leg. It's heavy, but not as heavy as Roy had been expecting, and the metal joints glide smoothly when Roy bends the knee.

"But I can’t say that I take all of it at face value,” he continues, “and to be honest, Chakras have always been particularly difficult for me to swallow. I have a hard time buying a theory that says ‘your fifth chakra is blocked and so you have trouble communicating with the people around you’,” he says, pushing the limb back towards Ed’s chest.

"Good," Ed says bluntly, "because that is dumb."

Roy laughs. "You really have no tact at all, do you?"

"Nah," says Ed, "My brother is always on my case about it, but a lot of the time when people say be polite, they really mean lie. And that makes communicating more complicated than it already is. And religion or _spiritualism_ or whatever the fuck is all pointless in the end. No one ever got out of dying by believing in something special. So if you have to tell yourself that there’s a higher power out there in order to sleep at night that’s your choice. And thinking that it’s nuts is mine.”

"Fair enough," Roy says, pressing the leg back and up until Ed makes a small grunt.

Once he’s done scowling about the stretch, Ed tilts his head to the side a bit and asks, “Why did you become a yoga instructor?”

Roy pauses for a second. He has a simple, stock answer that he usually gives when people ask him that question. It is an easy to swallow soundbite about wanting to help others find peace and balance in their lives. It’s not exactly a lie, but the whole truth is slightly more complicated. He had not given any thought to what he might say if Ed ever asked, because he hadn’t really expected him to. Which leaves Roy at a loss.

The thing about this answer is that it’s a part of how Roy defines his level of intimacy with people. Close friends, like Riza and Maes, know the truth. Clients and strangers get the edited and sanitized version. Ed is technically not a member of either group.

Because of that, this moment, which probably seems like nothing out of the ordinary to Ed, is fraught with uncertainty for Roy.

In the end, he settles for the truth. In part because Ed is brutally honest in all things, and in part because in the deep, wishful corner of Roy’s heart, he wants the kind of life where he is always honest with Ed.

Carefully, Roy lowers Ed’s right leg to the floor but makes no move to get up from his position, kneeling over the blond’s left leg.

“It’s… complicated,” Roy says, at last. “I was a soldier – a Colonel in the army – and I served in Afghanistan for two full tours of duty.”

Every time he talks about it, though it has been six years since he came back, Roy can feel the hot, dry press of the desert air. He can feel the sting of sand blasting through the wind in great clouds scouring any uncovered skin, blinding anyone foolish enough to be caught without their goggles on, and he can taste the grit in his mouth.

Roy can still hear the screams and the gunfire and the awful, awful silence that came both before and after.

And he remembers blood. His own, spurting out of him in great pulses to soak his clothing while the burn of bullet wounds ate at his side. Worse, he can remember the blood of his friends. Maes. Riza. The men under his command.

But most awful of all is the memory of the people whose blood _he_ spilt.

Revulsion, terror, and the bone deep knowledge that this will haunt him forever, dwell within those memories like a lingering infection in a wound that no antibiotic will ever be able to fight off.

Roy looks away from Ed, the old shame knotting his stomach. He does not want to see Ed's eyes for the next part.

“When you’re a private, you don’t know anything so you’re just following orders. You don't ask questions. You don't think. And it can be easier that way, even if the orders are awful. But when you become an officer, you start to understand the bureaucracy and the… hmm…” He pauses, searching for the right way to explain to a civilian what that world is like. “The game, I suppose, that the military brass makes of the war that you and your men are fighting and dying for. And unless you want to lose everyone under your command, you begin to play it, too.”

He looks back and Ed is listening quietly, intently. He shows no sign of discomfort at either the topic of conversation, or the fact that Roy is still basically crouched over him.

“I had to do a lot of things, make a lot of calls, that never sat well with me. There is no right or wrong when you’re fighting for your life against other people who are just fighting for theirs.”

Roy lets out a soul-weary breath and shakes his head. He sits back on his haunches, finally moving off of Ed into a more comfortable position. “I lost my sense of balance. That was when Riza introduced me to yoga, and it helped. We used to practice it as a unit on quiet nights at base camp. Even if you don’t believe in the spiritual component, there is a great deal to be said for the good that centering your body can do for your mind.”

Ed is silent for so long that Roy is afraid he might have given him far more information than he really wanted. But just as he is preparing to redirect the conversation back to more pleasant topics, Ed says, very quietly, “It helped you find balance, right? To make some sense of all the chaos?"

With a small, wry smile, Roy nods. “In combat, some men turn to religion, others to drinking. And some turn to bending their bodies into pretzels. Everyone copes differently. All things considered, I think I could have picked worse.”

“True. Do you ever miss it?” Ed asks. “Being a soldier?”

The question could have felt nosey or invasive. Or perhaps like Ed had not really been listening, but the way he asks it and the inquisitive tilt of his head speaks of nothing more than genuine curiosity.

Roy’s lips twist a little. “Not at all. There was nothing for me in that life but ash and blood. I went to Afghanistan under the misguided illusion that I would be making the world a less evil place, and instead I learned that there is nothing more evil than war itself. At least here I actually get to do some good. Help some people.”

Ed gives him a smile, and Roy takes note of this one, because it’s not a cheeky grin or a feral challenge filled with sharp teeth, but a genuine smile. Roy’s heart skips a beat and he feels a little lightheaded.

“For what it’s worth,” Ed says, “when you’re not being a total bastard, you’re not a half-bad yoga teacher. And it’s a good thing you’re not in the army any more. You’re too much of a bleeding heart to have been much good at it.”

Roy laughs, and it's only a little hollow. The person he is now would certainly be no use on the battlefield. Ed does not need to know that the person he was before was far too good at shoving his feelings down and playing the game. Not now, not when he’s looking at Roy with soft eyes and saying words that are as close to praise as he is capable of voicing.

“Thank you Edward. Coming from you that’s quite the compliment,” he replies with a smile.

Ed snorts and looks away. “Don’t let it go to your head or anything, it’s big enough as is.”

Roy just beams at him, then gets to his feet and holds his hand out to help Ed up. The blond takes it without hesitation, and Roy’s heart feels very light and balanced indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story basically ate my life. I don't know how I wrote it in a single month and I'm still waiting for someone to tell me that I hallucinated the whole thing.
> 
> Please let me know if you enjoyed it; comments and kudos are much appreciated! XOXO


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The response to this story has been so overwhelmingly amazing thank you all so much I don't even know how to tell you guys what it means that you've been so enthusiastic about this story. 
> 
> Once again, this fic would not exist without my magnificent beta edroys, who is a goddess and has my eternal gratitude! XOXO

In early October, Winry goes on a wild weekend baking spree, resulting in far more vegan banana crumb muffins than she actually has any use for. So on Sunday night, she swings by and delivers a massive container of them to the Elric’s apartment, and then waltzes away like she hasn’t just dropped a carbohydrate laden bomb on them.

This would have been a nice gesture, except that there are probably twenty muffins in that container, and neither of the brothers likes vegan baked goods enough to consume that many before they go stale.

In the end, they decide to keep six for themselves and Al takes the rest to class with him, sans one final muffin that Ed snags for Roy.

Because Roy is almost guaranteed to like vegan muffins.

Thing is, now that he knows about Afghanistan, Ed can sort of understand the fact that Roy reacted to all the senseless death by going a little overboard with his utter respect for each and every life. Even if some of those lives do belong to delicious animals.

So while Ed’s still staunchly in the ‘vegans are ridiculous’ camp, he is willing to indulge Roy a little.

But later, when he is standing in the studio with the muffin stashed in his duffle bag, he honestly isn’t sure what he had been thinking. Vegan or not, it seems absurd, really, to just hand the muffin to Roy. When is he even supposed to do that? It isn’t like the yoga lessons have a prescribed time for an exchange of baked goods built into them.

Unfortunately Ed has a muffin for himself tucked into his bag as well, and since it’s not like he’s going to eat two, there is no point in just letting the second one languish, uneaten all day. So, when Ed finally gets up from the savasana at the end of the lesson, he decides to just go for it.

He reaches into his duffle bag and fishes the muffin out, handing it to Roy with absolutely no context or preamble.

“Here,” he says.

Roy takes the foil wrapped muffin carefully, looking at it with a bewildered expression on his face.

“What is it?” he asks.

Ed rolls his eyes. “My friend Winry – you know, Hawkeye’s client who you’ve worked with a few times – baked too many muffins this weekend and she gave most of them to me ’n my brother because she’s trying to offload her mistakes onto other people. They’re not actually terrible though, so I brought you one.”

Roy peels some of the foil back to look at the pastry underneath.

“I see,” he says. “It wouldn’t happen to be vegan would it?”

Ed actually has to suppress a smile at that because Roy is _so_ predictable, but says, “Yes Roy, it’s vegan. I know better than to mess with your weird diet.”

Roy is still eyeing the muffin a little suspiciously, and his face is doing that strange twisting thing that it does when Roy really wants to argue with Ed, but is holding himself back by force. “Ah, thanks.”

Ed is oddly offended that Roy doesn't seem to believe him. Because he's a dick, but he's not _that_ big of a dick. He rubs at the scar tissue around the Automail port, not meeting Roy’s eyes. He knew this was a dumb idea. Roy probably thinks he’s a total weirdo now. “It’s whatever. You don’t have to eat it. Hell, you can throw it away for all I care.”

Roy snorts a laugh. “Don’t be ridiculous, Edward. I haven’t had breakfast yet and this looks a lot more appetizing than the protein shake that I was going to drink. Do you have a few minutes? There’s coffee in the kitchen if you want to come hang out.”

“Oh,” says Ed, surprised but also pleased. “Yeah, I mean I guess that would be cool. I have half an hour to kill anyway.”

It’s not entirely true; he should really be hurrying to shower and then walking to the campus, but… coffee with Roy sounds like a lot more fun. And it’s not like he’s teaching today so who cares if he’s a little late to his class?

Ed shoulders his duffle bag and follows Roy out of the studio.

Like the rest of Alchemy Fitness, the kitchen is sleek and modern; featuring clean white cabinets and countertops with stainless steel appliances. Ed’s first thought is that Al would love it; the younger Elric brother has a strange fixation on minimalist interior design.

It is mostly empty when they get there, aside from the massive, shirtless man standing in front of the fridge, chugging an entire half-gallon bottle of horrifying green juice. He nods once to Roy and then again to Ed.

“Morning, Armstrong,” Roy says.

Polishing off the last of his juice, the giant sighs with pleasure before replying, “Good morning to you as well. I would love to join you fine fellows for a chat, alas I must be off. I have a client to attend to.”

Armstrong places the bottle in the recycling bin, nods once more to them, and leaves the room. Strangely enough, he reminds Ed of the terrifying, blonde crossfit trainer that he sees around the gym every once in awhile, which is kind of ridiculous, because Armstrong’s about four times her size and intensely bald.

"He's the head of the body building department," Roy says, as if that explains everything. Which it really doesn’t.

“Who even talks like that? Is everyone who works here weird?” Ed asks once he’s sure they’re alone.

“I like to think we have a healthy mix of personalities,” Roy says diplomatically.

“What the fuck ever,” Ed says, laughing.

Roy pours himself a mug of coffee and then sits down at one of the small tables in the room without adding anything to it at all. It makes sense that Roy would like his coffee black and strong and undiluted; he had definitely struck Ed as the type. He pats the back of the seat to his left, indicating that Ed should join him.

“Grab yourself some coffee if you want, there's milk etcetera in the fridge that you can help yourself to,” he says.

Ed does as he is told, not bothering to argue when coffee is involved. He's pleased to see almond milk in the refrigerator and he adds so much to his cup that the coffee is more a pale caramel color than brown. Roy, thankfully does not seem to take Ed’s use of almond milk as some sort of sign that Ed is about to convert to veganism. The gloating really would be more than Ed could take.

Milk is the one thing that Ed will just _never_ like. It’s gross. Cheese is okay, ice cream is tolerable. But milk and yogurt can just fuck right off.

Mug handle clasped in his metal hand, Ed joins Roy at the table. He retrieves his own muffin from the duffle bag, noticing that it has gotten a little squashed since it went in earlier that morning. It doesn’t matter to him though, it’s not like the shape will affect the flavor. He pretends not to watch as Roy begins to pick apart his muffin, eating it one crumbly piece at a time.

“Not bad and also not obviously made with animal byproducts,” Roy says, smirking at Ed after he chews and swallows his second bite.

“I told you that but whatever. Shut the hell up and eat your muffin, you smug bastard,” Ed says.

They sit in companionable silence for a moment, then Roy takes a sip of his coffee, sets his mug back down carefully and looks over at Ed.

“I’ve been wondering…” Roy begins, and Ed feels the familiar tightening of anxiety in his stomach that always goes along with those words.

 _Here we go_ , he thinks.

He should have known this was coming eventually. People always want to know.

Usually they’ll wait a while for him to volunteer the information, but because Ed is not the most forthcoming person, they eventually wind up losing patience and ask him, discretion be damned.

But with Roy… Ed had hoped, especially after their talk the week before about Roy's time in the military and all the ways in which life can fuck a person up, that maybe Roy would leave this one alone. He’s not angry though, not like he usually gets when people want to know. Ed has learned Roy’s tragic tale, so he supposes that it is only fair for Roy to hear his. But this is still not a story he was planning on telling this morning.

“It was a car accident when I was twelve,” he says, looking down at his metal hand resting on the white plastic tabletop. “Drunk driver in a semi, going the wrong way in a tunnel. Our shitty little sedan didn’t stand a fucking chance.”

Ed leans back in his chair, pushing so that only the back legs are on the ground and he’s supporting himself on his heels. “The crash killed my mom instantly, and put my brother Al in a coma for three years. My arm and leg got pinned when I was trying to pull him out of the wreck. It shifted and fell on me.”

He looks up, meeting Roy’s gaze. Ed is prepared to see the usual kind of morbid fascination that most people react to that story with. But the only emotion on Roy’s face is horrified sorrow.

“Ed, I had no idea,” he says, softly. So softly, in fact, that it actually makes Ed flinch. It’s too close to pity and that is the last thing in the world that he wants from Roy.

“Yeah, well, whatever. Shit sucks and people die. That’s just how life works.” He closes his eyes and shrugs, feigning nonchalance. “But that’s what you wanted to know, right?”

Roy shakes his head. His hands are wrapped around his coffee cup, so tight that his knuckles have gone white and bloodless from the force of his grip. “I was actually going to ask how old you are. I always assumed that if you told me about the Automail, it would be on your own time.”

Ed’s eyes snap open and his lungs stop working. Roy’s expression is open and vulnerable like Ed’s never seen before. There is no guile there, but Roy’s also not looking at Ed like he thinks he’s about to break.

 _I misjudged him_ , Ed thinks. And never before has that thought made him so happy. He’s not even mad that he jumped the gun and spilled his guts for no reason. Which is something of a miracle in its own right.

“Oh… uh…” he stutters, “I’m twenty two.”

Roy’s eyebrows shoot towards his hairline. “And you have _how_ many degrees?”

“One undergrad, three masters, and this PhD, if I ever finish my dissertation. Which is stupid anyway, because the only reason that it's not done yet is that every time I've finished my research I've managed to disprove the theory that I was originally studying,” Ed mutters.

“Were you born needing to be the smartest person in the room, or was that something you picked up later?” Roy asks incredulously.

“Whatever old man. I can list every single chemical compound that makes up your body; I don’t need your judgment,” Ed snarks back, but he’s smiling.

* * *

Roy would not actually consider himself an Artist with a capital ‘A’. In his mind that is a word for people who have had training, or have the compulsion to create art that drives them to do that above and beyond anything else in their lives.

No, Roy is more of a guy who doodles on anything he can get his hands on and occasionally goes on painting binges when he has something on his mind. Or someone, as the case may be.

Art as a coping mechanism is yet another thing that he picked up in Afghanistan. During some of the longer nights there really wasn’t much else to do, so he started drawing. Doodles at first, then proper sketches. He drew his troops. He drew Riza and Maes. He drew the camp, the desert, the high, craggy cliff faces, and distant mountains.

Sometimes he would draw pictures of his old friends, people he knew before he was deployed, but the longer he spent in the desert, the harder it was to remember what they looked like.

As it turned out, Roy wasn’t half bad, and pretty soon he had developed a reputation. ‘Get on Colonel Mustang’s good side and maybe he’ll draw something for you,’ was a refrain frequently whispered throughout the camp, though never when they thought he could hear them.

He had filled four sketchbooks from cover to cover while he was at war.

Those sit, buried at the bottom of his box of things from that time. He hasn’t quite had the heart to look at them since he came back. There are a lot of faces in there that only live on paper now.

It was only after he returned to civilian life once more that he discovered painting. And while he is perhaps not as talented a painter as he is a quick sketch artist, Roy has a decent eye for color and composition, and he finds the feeling of dragging a brush smoothly across a canvas, coupled with the pine smell of turpentine and paint, to be very soothing.

For him it is another form of meditation; a perfect activity for sorting through his messy thoughts.

Roy has been thinking about the color gold for weeks. It lurks in the corners of his brain and it’s splashed behind the backs of his eyelids when he closes his eyes.

Everywhere he looks he sees wisps of it, flickers of it, hints of it. But it’s never quite the right shade when he turns to look at it properly. No, the gold that he’s fixated on is the strangely brilliant wheat and honey shade of Ed’s hair and the sun-bright hue of his eyes. They are colors that Roy has never before seen on a human being in his life.

He feels like he’s going crazy.

So that Friday night, after he finishes up all of the particulars of closing out the last week of business at the gym, Roy gets in his car and drives over to the art store in his neighborhood.

It’s been ages since he went there and he’s forgotten what the hours are, but luck is on his side for once and he arrives just before closing. He has the disorienting experience of realizing that everything in the store has been moved around since the last time he came in, so he goes in search of an employee to direct him.

A twenty-something guy with questionable fashion sense is lounging in the chair behind the cash register, feet propped up on the counter. Despite it being well past dark outside, he’s wearing a pair of small, round sunglasses which he has pushed all the way down to the end of his nose, and a black leather vest with a fur collar. He’s also unabashedly looking through a porn magazine.

Roy has to fight back a laugh. While that’s not _his_ style, he has to admire the guy’s utter lack of shame.

“Whatcha want?” asks the man, not bothering to look away from the magazine.

“Where might I find oil paint?” Roy asks.

“Isle three,” the guy replies, turning a page.

He thanks the cashier out of habit, not that the guy probably even cares, and goes in search of paint. He has a pretty good collection of paints at home but it has been so long since he’s used them that he’s honestly not even sure that he _has_ any yellows, much less the right ones for what he wants to do. Better to err on the side of caution.

In the end, he buys four tubes; Indian Yellow, Cadmium Yellow, Bismuth Yellow, and a tube that just says ‘Lemon’. He buys that last one partially because it is the same color as Ed’s extraordinary eyes in the sunlight and partially because the name makes him chuckle, thinking of Ed’s occasionally sour temper. It’s fitting.

When he gets home, Roy has to hunt around his bedroom a bit to find all of his painting supplies. The easel is still out, lurking in the corner of the room, as are his brushes and a blank canvas that he had optimistically bought almost a year before.

But his collection of half-used paint tubes and his palette are both slightly more elusive. Eventually he finds them, buried in the bottom of a desk drawer full of pens and old brushes.

Once all of his supplies are in order, Roy changes out of his work clothes into a pair of loose pajama pants, old, a little frayed, and already paint-stained from one of his many other artistic adventures, and then pulls on a faded Burning Man Music Festival t-shirt that has been ruined since the day he got it, in an incident that involved a body painting contest held far too close to the Fire Conclave and some very questionable brownies that Maes bought from a guy named Yoki.

Carefully, he spreads a drop cloth on the floor to protect the two hundred year old dark hardwood from damage or stray paint. Then he props open a section of the massive industrial windows that make up one wall of his bedroom, pours a cup of turpentine, and sets to work.

It’s around ten o’clock when he begins painting and he does not resurface from his working trance until close to three. A chilly wind has begun blowing into the room through the window, carrying with it the smoky scent of fall and the promise of even colder nights to come.

On the easel is… well. It’s certainly not a portrait. It’s mostly just a collection of abstract shapes, in varying hues of gold and yellow, offset and intensified by touches of black and red. All the same, it’s clearly Ed’s spirit staring at him from the canvas.

Roy takes a few steps back, wiping his hands off on a spare rag. His legs feel a little unsteady, so he takes a seat on the steamer trunk at the foot of his bed. He stares at the painting.

He could have tried to paint a real portrait, but he could never have properly captured the defiant slant of Ed’s eyebrows or the sharp angle of his jaw. This, this is as close to actually painting Ed as Roy could come and still do him justice. Thankfully, this also keeps him safely out of the “obsessive portrait painting stalker” category, so that’s good.

All the same, there’s something about this that doesn’t sit quite right with Roy. Maybe it’s the fact that Ed is an unknowing participant in this whole thing, a muse who would probably be really alarmed if he ever found out.

Roy should let this piece dry and then paint over it with gesso. Re-use the canvas for something slightly less weird.

But the idea makes his heart squeeze uncomfortably. He sits and stares hard into the golden swirl of his work and runs a hand through his hair, realizing only too late that he probably should have waited to do that until after he washed all the paint off. 

* * *

The thing is, Ed really doesn’t like Holidays. Any of them. At all. He doesn’t really understand the whole point of them.

Al, who basically thinks that any holiday is a good excuse to go all out and decorate the whole apartment, has tried to explain why they’re so important on many an occasion, and each time Ed has failed to grasp the reason that he should care.

“It’s about celebrating life, brother! It’s about honoring traditions and making memories and spending time with– _oh my god_ , look at these skeleton candleholders! They’re perfect for the table!” Al exclaims, as he drags his reluctant brother through the crowded aisles of Party City on his annual pilgrimage to buy decorations.

If Ed were being honest he would have to admit that the skeleton candleholders _are_ pretty cool, but that is _entirely_ beside the point.

“What the fuck do candleholders have to do with any of the things you just listed?” Ed grumbles, casting dubious glances at the plethora of spooky knick-knacks on the shelves that stretch all the way to the ceiling.

“Oh you’re hopeless! Look, I know you can’t help the fact that you’re a philistine but you’re not getting out of doing Halloween this year. The Science Society is having a party at Dante’s Inferno and you’re coming, whether you like it or not,” Al says, in a tone that brooks no argument.

Ed, being Ed, argues anyway. Of course.

“Why can’t I just stay home and work? I’ll even hand out candy or some shit if that will make you happier.”

Al levels his brother with a glance so scathing that it could peel paint. “Because the last time I let you hand out candy, you gave all of it to the first kid, then spent the rest of the night hiding in your room with all the lights off so that people would think that no one was home, and then you yelled at anyone who actually rang the doorbell anyway.”

Ed crosses his arms. “Yeah, well. Who rings a fucking doorbell after nine? I could have been sleeping.”

“Whatever,” says Al, placing the candleholders into the shopping cart, “you’re coming to the party. And you’re wearing a costume.”

“No fucking way.” Ed snarls. He hates Halloween parties. They are loud, there are dumb, drunk people – which sometimes include Ed and that's always embarrassing – and he doesn’t _get_ the holiday anyway so they just feel pointless. But he'll go to one if really pressed. Costumes though… no, that’s where he draws the line. “I’ll go to your fucking party, but I’m not wearing a damn costume.”

“Okay, okay,” Al says, backing off, “but I’m going to get you one anyway, just in case you change your mind.”

“Don’t count on it,” says Ed dryly.

They spend another hour in Party City, by which point Ed’s nerves are frayed to shreds.

Finally satisfied, Al hustles them over to the checkout line. He has what appears to be half of his monthly paycheck in Halloween decorations stuffed into the shopping cart, plus a costume for himself (a knight) and one for Ed (a lab coat splattered with fake blood).

After a great deal of deliberation, all of which Ed kept insisting was pointless because he isn’t going to wear the damn costume anyway, Al had pulled the lab coat off the rack, held it up to his brother’s body and then proceeded to howl with laughter.

“You could be a _mad_ scientist, brother! Get it?” Al had wheezed out between cackles.

Sometimes Al is such a big weirdo that Ed can’t believe that they’re related.

But whatever, they’re finally at the register and Ed feels marginally less like murdering something now that the end is in sight.

“Hey, you know what?” Al says as they take another step forwards in line. “This is the first chance that we’ve really had to hang out properly in months. Thanks for coming with me, even though I know you’d really rather not.”

And just like that, Ed's heart melts and Al is forgiven. He can never stay mad at his wonderful, aggravating, perfect little brother for long.

“Yeah, well,” Says Ed, looking away, “someone needs to make sure that you don’t spend all the rent money on decorations.”

“Whatever you say, Mr. Private Yoga Lessons,” Al scoffs.

Ed goes crimson.

“They’re necessary for my ongoing physical well-being and also mostly your fault, so you need to shut your mouth.”

With a laugh, Al says, “Are you sure that’s it? It wouldn’t have anything to do with the dreamy look you get in your eye any time you talk about a certain trainer, would it?”

“I do not get any sort of dreamy look anywhere under any circumstances!” Ed says, at far greater volume than is perhaps acceptable for the checkout line of a Party City. And never mind his earlier fuzzy feelings, Al’s back in the doghouse.

Ed’s face is burning like an open flame. Of course Al picked up on Ed’s less than innocent interest in Roy; he’s observant as fuck and Ed is about as subtle as a brick flying through a window, but that doesn’t mean that Ed is just going to admit to it that easy.

“It’s fine, brother! In fact, it’s nice to see you interested in someone. After Ling I thought… I dunno, that you’d never really let yourself fall for anyone again?” Al shrugs. “And I can’t say that I can fault you for your taste. If I was gay I’d be taking a lot of yoga lessons too.”

“Aaaand this conversation is now officially over on the grounds that you’re insane,” Ed says, pointedly ignoring Al’s 'Ed don't be an ass' face. Thankfully he is saved from any further humiliation by a cashier beckoning them over, but sneaking a glimpse at Al, he spies an expression that promises that his brother is nowhere near done with this line of conversation.

Ed’s phone buzzes in his back pocket, making him jump a little. He fishes it out and looks down at the screen.

There’s a text from Roy. _“How is your shoulder doing?”_

Ed blinks. His shoulder is actually feeling pretty good now, but it had been aching like crazy earlier. He’s kind of… touched, to be honest, that Roy is checking on him.

 _“Its good”_ he texts back.

Roy’s response is instantaneous. _“Glad to hear it. Remember to stretch, drink tons of water, and massage it gently with some Tiger Balm if it hurts. Don’t let it stiffen up.”_

Ed rolls his eyes and texts back, _“Yeah yeah I got it wouldnt want an injury to take out your most irritating client”_

The cashier rings up the purchase and Alphonse swipes his credit card.

 _“I think you mean favorite client. ;)”_ Roy says and Ed goes beet red. Roy is probably just teasing, but just seeing the words on his screen is making hiss heart go all funny. He coughs and Al gives him a strange look.

Sensing incoming awkward conversation, Ed points at the total on the cash register and asks, “ _Are_ you gonna be able to make rent this month?”

“It’s fine brother,” Al says, waving a hand dismissively, “I was gonna tell you tonight but they’re giving me a raise and making me head lab tech.”

He says it so casually that Ed doesn’t really register the true meaning of Al’s words until a few seconds of passed. And when he does, he rounds on his brother, jaw falling open in shock.

“You got a fucking promotion? And you didn’t tell me?” he says, jabbing Al in the side with his metal elbow.

“Ow! Hey, stop that you jerk!” Al cries, squirming away from his brother while simultaneously attempting to sign his receipt. “It wasn’t official until today."

“Still, I’m fucking mad that you didn’t say anything, you punk.” Ed says, then finally stops abusing his brother and gives him a smile. “Maybe we could have done something else to celebrate _other_ than going to fucking Party City.”

“But I love Party City!” Al cries, “Besides I didn’t want to jinx it by getting too excited.”

Ed picks up one of the massive paper bags filled with decorations and costumes. “Like they’d be dumb enough to give the job to anyone else.”

Beaming under his brother’s praise, Al takes the other two and together the brothers make for the exit of the store, all previous squabbling long since forgotten.

* * *

For once, Roy doesn’t actually have anything scheduled for his entire Sunday, so when Maes asks him if he wants to come to the farmer’s market to get Halloween pumpkins with him and his family, Roy leaps at the chance. He has no real interest in pumpkins except as food, but he loves spending time with the Hughes's.

Roy, Riza, and the adult members of the Hughes family have known each other for ages, and they have been through hell and back together. Despite the fact that Roy and Riza didn’t actually meet Gracia in person until after they came back from Afghanistan, she is no less a part of their slightly dysfunctional family of choice.

Maes and Gracia had already been engaged for two years when Maes was deployed. The others had gotten to know Gracia through the letters and photos she sent him and the occasional video call that they happened to be around for. When their flight back to the US from Afghanistan finally landed and the three soldiers had stepped off the plane in the Amestris International Airport, she had sprinted across the terminal to kiss Maes soundly. Then, joyful tears streaming down her face, she had hugged Roy and Riza hard in turn while she thanked them for bringing her fiancé home.

After they came back the four of them had maintained a standing date every week for drinks on Friday nights at a pub called Sparky’s. But after Elicia was born, the Hughes family had been less available. And though Roy and Riza obviously had no problem spending time together, the bar nights began to feel a little too much like dates for either of their comfort.

Eventually they’d just agreed to stop going and for a while, Roy had worried that this meant the end of the friendship.

But instead of the four of them drifting apart, something extraordinary had happened. New traditions sprang up to replace old and the Hughes family had continued to fold Roy and Riza into the fabric of their changing lives without a second thought.

Instead of weekly drinking nights, there were monthly dinners, and as Elicia's godparents, the two of them got a lot of invitations to things like pre-school plays and dance recitals as the little girl grew.

Today’s outing is at the large farmer’s market that springs up in Bradley Park on Sunday mornings from April until whenever it gets too cold for the vendors to want to stand around, which usually happens some time in December.

During the later half of October, there is a pumpkin patch that takes up a large open space near the south end of the market, accompanied by a small petting zoo and a face painter.

Essentially it’s a miniature heaven on earth for a four year old.

But for Roy, it’s mostly just cold. He shoves his hands deep into the pockets of his black wool coat for warmth and looks over the scene before him.

Maes, as usual, has his eyes glued to his camera and he’s squatting in the mud to take a photo of his daughter, who is picking her way through a massive pile of bright orange pumpkins, searching for the largest, roundest one. The girls pigtails bounce with every step and her pink dress has a couple of dirt smudges on it from playing with the animals in the petting zoo.

A short distance away, Gracia is looking over a table covered in decorative gourds. Her soft brown hair is nearly hidden below a bright red knit hat, and her figure is mostly obscured beneath the largest blue sweater that Roy has ever laid eyes on.

“Uncle Roy!” Elicia calls, holding up a pumpkin that’s almost too big to fit in her tiny arms, “what about this one?”

Roy turns to look at the little girl and smiles. Elicia is precious and precocious, and so sweet that it almost gives Roy cavities to spend time with her. He doesn't even mind; Roy loves this girl as if she is his own daughter, though he’s eternally thankful that she isn’t. Maes is much better father material than Roy could ever hope to be.

He does enjoy getting to be someone’s uncle though, even if it’s only in name. It’s all the fun with none of the responsibility.

“I think it’s perfect, just like you,” he says with utmost seriousness, giving Elicia his most winning smile.

The little girl squeals with delight then scampers off, massive pumpkin cradled in her arms, to show her mother.

Roy looks over at Maes, who is snapping photo after photo, and grins.

“Haven’t you run out of wall space for pictures yet?” He asks.

“If I ever run out of space for new photos of my beautiful family, I will buy a bigger house,” says Maes as he lowers the camera to glare at Roy. “Besides, I don’t need any lip from the guy who once bought a camera, took a couple of picutres and then never did anything with them. Photos are meant to be hung on walls and shared on the internet, Roy, not squirreled away on memory cards.”

“Hey,” Roy says, “I post photos sometimes.”

Maes snorts, “The last one you posted was that dumb selfie that you took the time that Havoc brought a selfie stick to the gym in August. Just stick to painting, you’re good at that.”

Roy makes a face.

“Don’t talk to me about painting right now,” he says.

There must have been something in Roy’s tone that caught Maes’ attention, because he lowers his camera fully, letting it dangle around his neck from its strap, and says, “Oh?” in a very casual voice.

Roy’s lips twist, “I just… do you ever do something because you think it will fix a problem and it makes everything worse instead?”

“Well yeah, I think everyone does from time to time. It’s part of the whole human experience,” Maes says, “What did you do though?”

“I think I caught feelings for a client... The other night I tried to do my usual art meditation routine to clear my head, but it backfired spectacularly. Now I have this painting sitting in my bedroom… and it reminds me of him every time I look at it,” Roy scrubs his hands over his face, “Not that I actually need reminding, because I think about him _constantly_.”

A cold breeze blows through the farmers market, sending red and gold leaves tumbling through the air and destroying the perfect order of Roy’s hair.

He lets his hands fall and stares hard at the ground. It’s muddy and covered in dull, golden straw.

Ed’s hair is quantifiably a better shade of gold.

Roy would know.

When he looks back up, Maes is scratching at his chin, looking him over speculatively, “Have you thought that maybe this isn’t such a bad thing?”

“He’s a client, Maes,” Roy says hopelessly, “It’s nothing _but_ a bad thing.”

Maes shrugs. “Yeah well, this one might be worth the risk is all I’m saying. Look, Roy, you’ve had a hard time since we got back. Probably harder than me or Riza. I've had Gracia to lean on and Riza is tougher than the both of us combined. I know that you’ve mostly gone at it alone too – and _no_ , your string of one night stands from last spring doesn’t count. Having real feelings for someone is a good thing, Roy. It means you’re healing.”

Roy is quiet for a moment. It’s not like Maes is saying anything that he himself hasn’t already thought, but…

He practically has a matching six piece set of emotional baggage that he carts around with him everywhere he goes. The thing that they didn’t tell him when he enlisted was that the adjustment period for re-integrating into civilian life never really ends. There will always be a part of him that is all raw nerves, directly exposed to the universe and constantly waiting for the worst to come. Living like that makes trust and confidence in people hard. It makes relationships hard.

Most people don’t get it. He has a suspicion though, that underneath all his affected attitude, Ed just might. But that only serves to make Roy more afraid of doing anything to change the status quo. He’s honestly not sure what he would do if he made a move and Ed rejected him. Or worse, walked out of his life for good.

“How did you know that Gracia was worth taking a risk on? I mean, I know you met her a million years ago, but how could you tell?” Roy asks.

Maes’ eyes take on a soft, far away cast. “She lights up my whole life. All the dark corners, all the ugly things; they all seem brighter and less awful with her around. When you find someone who does that for you, it’s worth taking a risk to be with them because the potential reward is so great.”

Green eyes behind glasses, refocus on reality before meeting Roy’s gaze. “Is this guy worth taking a risk for?”

Roy doesn’t answer, instead he turns and begins walking towards the gourd table where Elicia and Gracia are standing. “Come on, let’s go see what kind of trouble your family is getting up to,” he says.

Reminding Maes of the reason that he’s here is the perfect distraction, though Roy would suspect that this is not the last time his bespectacled friend will broach this subject with him.

They walk towards the Hughes women in silence. All the while the cogs of his brain have begun ticking away, turning Maes’ words over and over.

 _Is_ Ed worth taking a risk for?

* * *

Social media is not exactly high on Ed’s list of priorities. In fact, it’s pretty close the bottom, alongside stuff like attending poetry readings and keeping up with celebrity gossip.

Unfortunately for him, he’s friends with Winry.

“Edward Elric. It is 2015 and you need a Facebook page. Otherwise it’s like you don’t even exist,” she’d said, when she cornered him, laptop in hand, at the kitchen table.

The torturous afternoon during which she forced Ed to answer all sorts of questions – to which she already knew the answers because she has known him literally since they were _infants_ – had happened back in February. Almost ten full months later, Ed still doesn’t understand exactly how anything on the website works.

Or the app that Winry then installed on his phone.

All he knows is that sometimes he gets a notification and he is supposed to _do something_. Social media is as demanding as it is tedious.

Most of the time he just leaves everything until the next time Winry comes over to hang out, because she inevitably ends up going through all of his missed notifications and dealing with them for him.

In retribution for his laziness though, she has made his profile picture a really embarrassing childhood photo of her hugging the shit out of both Elric brothers.

And Ed can’t actually figure out how to change it.

Which is fucking frustrating because even though _he_ doesn’t care about facebook, he does kind of care _a little bit_ about his image as a tough guy.

Whatever.

Point is, Winry is the worst and Facebook drives Ed crazy.

And that is why he doesn’t realize that Roy has sent him a friend request until about two weeks after it happens.

They’re all lounging in the living room, watching Master Chef reruns, and Al and Winry have taken up most of the big sofa with their dumb cuddling thing that they do these days since they’re a _couple_ now. It's something the two of them had been dancing around _forever_ and Ed always expected that Al would make the first move if either of them ever actually said anything. But in the end, it had been Winry who did the asking out.

It’s new and Ed’s still not quite sure what to make of it, but whenever he sees Al and Winry together they both have this glow about them like they’re full of light and happiness. They're just _good_ together. Ed feels like he should be kind of repelled by the frankly absurd amount of affection flying around all over the place, but really he’s just happy that his two favorite people are happy. He’s absolutely not going to begrudge them that.

Winry has Ed’s laptop open on her lap and she’s going through his notifications.

“Do you want to go to Paninya’s party next Thursday night?” she asks.

“Ugh, no. She’ll probably get drunk and try to steal my Automail again.”

Winry makes a 'fair enough' face and clicks something with the trackpad.

“It’s Martel’s birthday tomorrow, I’m going to write ‘happy birthday’ on her wall, okay?”

Ed closes his eyes and leans back against the armrest of the loveseat that he’s occupying. “Do whatever you want.”

There’s the rapid clack of typing and then more trackpad clicking noises.

“Do you know a Lan Fan?” Winry asks.

“I think she was one of Ling’s friends but we were never close. Why?” Ed says lazily.

“She sent you a friend request. Should I accept?”

Ed shrugs. “I don’t care.”

Winry makes a grumpy sound and clicks the trackpad again. Then she gasps.

“Holy shit!”

“What?” asks Ed, opening his eyes to stare at the gaping mechanic.

“Roy sent you a friend request!”

Ed basically jackknifes off the loveseat, springing to his feet and crossing the living room in a single stride to snatch his laptop back from Winry.

“What the fuck?” he says, turning the computer around to stare at the screen.

Sure enough, there is a friend request from Roy Mustang.

Winry, who has disentangled herself from Al, gets to her feet too and reaches around the computer to click 'accept' before Ed has a chance to finish wrapping his head around the fact that Roy tracked down his Facebook profile at all.

“I can’t believe he friended you _and_ that it took you two weeks to respond! You see him all the time, he probably thinks you're mad at him!” Winry says, glaring.

“What the fuck Winry!” Ed says indignantly. “You can’t just go around friending people for me!”

“Brother, that’s what she does all the time. If she didn’t you wouldn’t have any friends on there. And let’s be real here…” Al says archly, “We all know that you’d never actually turn his request down.”

Why are all of the people in Ed’s life bullies? This is not fair.

“Whatever,” he mutters, retreating back over to the loveseat, computer still in hand. His brother has a point, but _still_.

Al and Winry share this _look_ with each other and then pointedly go back to watching Gordon Ramsay yell at people.

Ed knows that they’re only pretending not to pay attention to him over on the other side of the room, but he makes a mental note to guard his fucking facial expressions like they’re worth money because the second his eyebrows so much as twitch, they’ll probably start asking questions.

Cautiously he clicks on Roy’s name, and waits while his shitty internet loads the yoga instructor's page. When it finally appears, Ed blinks and has to bite back a laugh.

Roy’s profile picture is an inexplicably sexy photo of him posing with a rose in his teeth in between Hawkeye and a pretty brown-haired woman that Ed does not recognize. Roy has a come-hither expression on his face and both of the women are caught in the throes of hysterical laughter.

Ed clicks on the photo, wanting to see it better and his stomach jolts a little.

There are almost two hundred likes and nearly that many comments on the photo. Judging by some of the sentiments expressed in the comment feed, Ed is not the only person who has picked up on how attractive Roy is.

He feels kind of weirdly jealous of all of these strangers. Which is dumb because it’s not like he has a snowball’s chance in hell with Roy anyway, so who even cares if everyone and their mother wants to tell the man how hot he is on the internet.

A message pops up in the corner of his screen, startling the hell out of Ed.

_Roy Mustang: Took you long enough._

_Roy Mustang: I was beginning to think you hated me. :(_

_Roy Mustang: Did you use a cold compress on your shoulder like I told you yesterday?_

Ed stares at his screen as messages pop one after another into his chatbox.

Feeling sort of ridiculous because he's honestly never had an instant message conversation with anyone _ever_ , he responds.

_Ed Elric: did you friend me just so you could pester me on here too?_

_Ed Elric: were the texts not enough for you or_

_Roy Mustang: You rarely respond to those on time either so I figured that I’d better hedge my bets._

Ed feels a little indignant at that because he _hates_ texting but he always makes an effort to respond to Roy’s. So he takes off the metaphorical gloves and goes on the attack.

_Ed Elric: so are we gonna talk about your profile pic or…….._

_Roy Mustang: No._

_Ed Elric: i really think we should_

_Ed Elric: its ridiculous_

The icon in the corner of his screen changes and Roy’s rose photo is replaced by a black and white selfie. Roy fucking changed his profile picture.

_Roy Mustang: It’s gone. Now it’s like it never existed._

_Ed Elric: nah it happened and this new ones just as bad_

_Ed Elric: you know im never letting you live this down_

_Roy Mustang: Well if you want to talk about facebook photos we can always talk about yours._

_Ed Elric: quit changing the subject that’s playing fucking dirty_

_Roy Mustang: But haven’t you heard? I have this yoga client who says that’s the only way I know how to play._

That actually makes Ed laugh out loud and both Al and Winry start asking, “What, what?” really insistently, but Ed just shakes his head.

_Roy Mustang: In all seriousness, I actually do have to go before Riza catches me on here and murders me for shirking my duties._

_Roy Mustang: But I’ll see you on Thursday morning._

_Roy Mustang: Don’t forget to ice your shoulder!!!_

Maybe facebook isn’t so terrible after all.

* * *

Dante’s Inferno is something of an institution in the University District.

The area is home to a thriving dive bar scene and a rather astonishing number of wine bars per capita, but true nightclubs are in short supply. Perhaps that is why Solaris and Envy decided to open one there. But whatever the reason, they are certainly never hurting for clients and Halloween is no exception.

The interior of the club is massive, rising three stories high with a dance floor on the first level and a number of private party rooms on the others that are all full to bursting on this particular night.

Roy leans against a wall and takes in his surroundings.

It’s the first time that he’s actually come here, despite having known the owners for years. It is clear that someone knew what they were doing when they decorated this place. A repeating theme of devil horns and pitchforks carries throughout the venue, showing up on everything from the glasses to the ornate mirrors over the main bar.

Thematically red ambient lighting and the opulent black and gold color scheme lends a mysterious and dangerous air to the place. That feeling is helped along by the constant frenzy of flashing strobe lights bouncing off of the glitter that sparkles on every available surface. The place should feel tacky but the décor and the atmosphere somehow work together, and the overall effect is mysterious and seductive.

Great ambiance aside, Roy can’t really say that he’s enjoying himself. He has never felt very comfortable at Halloween parties and he definitely feels out of place at this one. He’s far too old and deeply concerned about the caloric content of everything everyone is drinking for this.

This just isn’t his holiday. He’s not much for costumes and since he went vegan, he’s not much for candy either. Which means that everyone basically treats him like he’s the world’s biggest fun suck.

It honestly begs the question of why people keep insisting on dragging him out every year.

Solaris had cornered him after leaving her hot yoga class the other day and invited him to their Halloween celebration.

“It’s no cover for you, of course,” she’d purred, flashing Roy a grin that was all dark promise and lascivious intention, “Envy is insisting that I invite everyone else here too, so do pass this invitation along. Unless, of course, you’d rather this be a _private_ party.”

Then she’d given him one of her cat-like grins, and sauntered off, hips swaying like a pendulum.

Roy hadn’t wanted to go, but surprisingly, it was Riza who insisted.

“Why not stop in for a bit?” she’d said. “It could be fun and it would be good to humor her. She and Envy do spend an awful lot of money on classes here.”

Looking around the bar, at all of the beautiful people in revealing costumes, Roy is beginning to think that Riza might have had an ulterior motive for insisting that they come. Every time he mentions Ed’s name, she gets this pinched expression on her face. It’s a look that says that she thinks he’s totally lost his mind and he’s heading straight for the edge of a cliff at top speed. Roy would be willing to bet that this is her subtle way of trying to divert his course.

He’s been propositioned by – and turned down – three different people since he showed up half an hour ago. While all of them might have tempted Roy at one point or another, there just isn’t room in his thoughts for anyone else besides Ed these days.

Roy sighs heavily and takes a drink, eyes searching the crowd for Riza, Havoc, or anyone else from the gym that he arrived with, but they’ve all melted off into the crowd, disguised by their costumes and the sheer mass of people.

So far he’s spent the whole evening slowly nursing a whiskey on the rocks (though the rocks have all melted by this point) and lurking in the corner near the coat check. Honestly, he’d rather be at home. Or anywhere else really.

Roy takes another sip of his watered down whiskey and looks around the room once more, hoping to see a familiar face, and that is when he spots him. Golden hair shining like a beacon even in the dark of the club.

As if summoned by Roy’s thoughts, there is Edward Elric himself, less than ten feet away.

Roy’s so shocked that he momentarily loses control of his facial features. His jaw drops open. He has only seconds to compose himself before Ed, who was distracted by navigating around a couple making out in the middle of the room, looks up and notices Roy staring at him.

Their eyes meet and Ed’s mouth stretches into a wide grin.

“Now this is a fucking surprise,” Ed calls as he comes over. “I didn’t even realize that you could leave the gym. I thought you might spontaneously combust if you stepped outside.”

For the most part, Ed is dressed in his usual fashion – black jeans, black shirt with a bold graphic print, and his red-soled motorcycle boots. Though tonight he is also wearing a blood-splattered lab coat, and he has a mostly empty glass in his hand.

He’s looking at Roy with something akin to relief on his face, which is definitely interesting.

“It was certainly a risk,” Roy says with an easy lift of his shoulders, “but I thought it was worth it for the sake of keeping you on your toes.”

Ed snorts, and gives Roy some serious side-eye. “That’s such bullshit, you’re always scolding me for being up on my toes and you know it.”

Then he pitches his voice low, in an imitation of Roy’s and says, “Heels down Edward, you’re not a ballerina.”

The yoga joke is so unexpected that it actually startles a laugh out of Roy. “That’s because your form is sloppy. But speaking of surprises, I was not expecting to see you here tonight either.”

Ed chugs down the last of his drink, and then sets the empty glass on a nearby table before responding.

“The university’s Science Society is having a thing in the big party room tonight. Al made me come. It was boring and stuffy as fuck all though. Plus they only have shitty vodka and PBR back there, which is not my thing. So I left to get something less awful to drink.” He makes a face. “Didn’t realize that punch they’re serving at the bar had this much booze in it; I think I might be sorta drunk.”

Roy takes in Ed’s pink tinged cheeks and the looseness of his stance and he smiles. “So it would seem.”

“Yeah well, I can’t help it if I get drunk kinda easily. I’m missing like twenty five percent of my total body mass, you know,” Ed says, waggling his Automail fingers. Then he gives Roy a long, hard look. “What the fuck are you supposed to be, anyway?”

Roy glances down at his outfit and grins. “I’m a yoga instructor, of course.”

He’s wearing his tie-dyed rainbow yoga pants and an oversized, sparkly, purple sweater, along with his brightest, loudest running shoes.

The sweater is something that Havoc gave him as a gag gift for Christmas the year before. In the beginning, Roy intended to donate it to Goodwill, but every time he saw it, it made him laugh. And then he actually tried wearing it and the sweater was not only soft and warm but also had the added benefit of making Riza shudder with revulsion every time she saw it. So of course he’s kept it around.

Ed shakes his head, “That’s not a fucking costume, Mustang. I’ve seen you wear that exact outfit to a session and even I know that your real clothes don’t count on Halloween. You gotta pick: all the way in or all the way out.”

“Says the physicist wearing a lab coat.” Roy counters.

A wide, and slightly dangerous grin appears on Ed’s face, “Yeah, but I’m a physicist in real life and a _mad scientist_ tonight. Because… I’m _mad_ that I have to be here. Get it?”

When Roy seems unimpressed, Ed scowls, “Look, okay… Al explained the pun better and it was funny when he said it.”

Roy smirks. “I’m still standing by my earlier statement; from what I’ve seen, you’re always a _mad_ scientist.”

“Ah, whatever. Seems like we both suck at Halloween,” Ed says, then he slumps. “Ugh. I need more punch if I’m going to stick around here. Al says I can’t go home ‘til midnight and this is fucking mindless.”

That is certainly a sentiment that Roy can get behind. He feels better now that Ed is here, and also secretly delighted that the blond is as ambivalent about the celebration as he is. It feels like he has found a kindred spirit.

“Was the punch any good or just strong enough to make up for how bad it tastes?” Roy asks, mentally preparing himself for the sheer amount of sugary alcohol that he’s about to ingest for the sake of spending a little more time with Ed.

Decent whiskey is one thing; dubious Halloween club punch is another. But that’s what’s here, and easy, and this opportunity is too tempting to pass up.

“Does it matter? It’ll do the job either way,” says Ed before taking hold of Roy’s wrist and beginning to pull him through the crowd. “Come on, Colonel tight-pants. Let’s get wasted.”

A shock shoots up his arm from the point of contact. It’s the first time that _Ed_ has touched _him_ and Roy’s heart goes haywire.

He clears his throat. “I think you’re well on your way there already,” he says, once he remembers how to speak again.

“Yeah, yeah. Just means you’ve got some catching up to do.” Ed smirks at him.

There is a split second where Roy thinks that maybe this is a bad idea. Perhaps he should not mix alcohol and Ed, keep the lines nice and tidy, keep his – admittedly few – remaining inhibitions firmly in place.

But he’s bored and curious, and so utterly entranced by the feeling of Ed’s warm hand encircling his wrist that he really can’t bring himself to care about all of those things.

 _Screw it,_ Roy thinks, and he lets Ed drag him into the crowd.

They weave through the mass of people, dodging around cats and doctors and ghosts (and sexy cats and sexy doctors and sexy ghosts) until they get to the main bar, where the punch bowl is currently reigning supreme. Though to call it a bowl would be a misnomer. It’s more of a massive glass, skull-shaped dispenser with a silver spigot at the back.

Ed holds Roy’s wrist all the way until they are right up at the bar. When he let’s go, Roy misses the touch to a ridiculous degree.

It is much louder here than it was near the coat check and they have to shout and lean close in order to hear each other. No problem there, as far as Roy’s concerned.

There’s a bartender – a massive, bald man dressed in a black tank top and pants – who is in charge of the punch bowl. When Ed holds up two fingers, the man fills a couple of glasses and pushes them towards Ed and Roy.

The blond reaches for his wallet, but Roy stops him with a hand on his arm and shakes his head.

“I’ve got these,” he says, over the din of the crowd and the thrum of the music.

Ed inclines his head.

“Suit yourself,” he says.

Once the drinks have been added to Roy’s tab, he and Ed take their glasses. Ed taps his against Roy’s in a sort of mocking cheers.

“Happy Halloween, you bastard,” Ed says before knocking back his drink.

Roy grins and follows suit.

As it turns out, Ed is really fun to hang out with, which does not necessarily figure because he is so prickly in everyday life. But when he sets his mind to it, it would seem that even Edward Elric is capable of having a good time with only minimal grumbling.

Roy would bet that most of it is for show anyway.

They wander around the club, circling back to the bar any time their drinks run dry and watching the spectacle unfolding around them. At one point, they run into Havoc and Catalina who are both dressed as cops and later, when they’ve gone up to the second floor balcony that overlooks the dancefloor, Ed points out his brother to Roy. The younger Elric is dressed in a giant suit of armor and dancing with an FBI agent that Roy recognizes as Winry.

Neither one of them is a very good dancer and armor plus inebriation is not doing either of them any favors, but Ed gets this shiny-eyed smile on his face when he’s looking at the two of them and Roy can practically feel the affection radiating off of him.

It’s kind of incredible, really, to see Ed happily emoting like that without reservation. Alcohol is an incredible thing.

The end of the night finds the two of them wedged tightly together in a bizarrely oversized, black velvet chair on the third floor. They’re talking about Roy’s work, and the class that Ed’s teaching, and the conversation flows easily between them, not getting caught and snagged on barbs, or sarcasm, or unnecessary combativeness for once.

Solaris glides by at one point, dressed as Catwoman, and she gives Roy a wink before placing drinks in both of their hands.

“Glad you made it. Now drink up boys; it’s against the house rules for my guests to be empty handed,” she says.

“What exactly is in this?” Roy asks, sniffing the drink dubiously.

She laughs, a soft, throaty sound. “It’s a Jägerbomb, darling. Redbull and Jägermeister; you know, to loosen you up.”

He’d thought as much; the sickly sweet odor like strong cough syrup is quite distinctive and memorable, even though he hasn’t drunk one of these in years.

“Ugh, I can’t believe you of all people would serve this stuff here. It’s terrible for you.”

Solaris looks at Ed, mysterious little smile still firmly in place.

“He definitely could use a loosening up. Do see that he drinks that, won’t you? Happy Halloween boys,” she says before melting back into the crowd.

Ed watches her leave, looking between her cat suit clad body and the drink in his hand with a mixture of confusion and trepidation.

“Can we trust her not to have drugged us?” he asks, making Roy laugh.

“Probably,” he says, and despite his earlier protestations, tips his glass back, downing the shot in one go.

What the hell, he’s already going to be detoxing for days, what’s one more ill-advised drink?

“If she kills me she’ll get banned from the gym and I don’t think she’d risk that; Solaris is there so often that she’s practically a permanent fixture.” He says, setting the now-empty glass aside.

Ed snorts and follows suit, chugging his shot, and then sticking out his tongue in revulsion. “This shit is so gross.”

“Isn’t it though?” He replies.

There is a pause of about five minutes, during which both of them are content to people watch, before Ed sits bolt upright.

“What’s wrong?” Roy asks, in alarm.

“What do you know about String Theory?” Ed asks, completely serious, golden eyes boring into Roy’s with almost uncomfortable intensity.

“That’s the one about parallel universes or something, right?” Roy replies, brows furrowing. “Why?”

“There’s this idea in it… well… one version of it, because there’s like five different theories since the people who study it can’t get their shit together… that we are living in one dimension that’s hurtling towards another dimension,” Ed rambles, “and when they collide it’s going to reset the universe and take us all back to the Big Bang.”

"You're drunk,” Roy says, with a snort.

Ed shakes his head furiously. “No, _you’re_ drunk. And so was the asshole who came up with that theory. Think about it; it’s ridiculous. Parallel universes would have to form in like... fucking valleys of the fabric of reality, _obviously_...”

“Obviously.” Roy echoes, amused. He’s not really following what Ed is talking about, but it’s certainly entertaining.

“And if we’re in separate valleys then the dimensions are never going to touch, much less collide with enough force to do anything. Ugh.” Ed falls back against the seat, gesturing clumsily with his right hand. “But like… whatever, right? I mean, parallel dimensions have to exist because of like… gravity and shit. But they’re never going to affect us so who the fuck cares.”

Roy blinks, alcohol-hazed brain trying to follow Ed’s wild train of thought. “So what you’re saying is that parallel universes are real… but we shouldn’t care about them.”

“Well when you say it like that it sounds crazy,” says Ed.

It’s definitely crazy and also sort of existentially horrifying, but Roy is just drunk enough to find it funny too, so he laughs. “Do you always talk about weird science when you get drunk?”

“Pretty much. Don’t hang out with scientists if you don’t want to talk science,” Ed says, grinning at Roy.

“This is barely science, Edward,” Roy says, “it’s more like science fiction.”

“Your face is science fiction,” Ed tells him and Roy can’t even begin to guess at what that could mean.

Then, very abruptly, the energy kick that the Red Bull in the Jägerbomb gave Ed wears off and he deflates like a balloon with all the air let out. He slumps into Roy’s shoulder and yawns widely.

“That shot was a fucking trap,” he says. “I thought I was getting a second wind but it was all a lie.”

Amused, Roy pats his leg. “How tragic.”

Ed feels… really nice, pressed up against Roy. His breath ghosts out in even puffs against Roy’s neck and his body is a warm line along Roy’s right side.

 _I could get used to this_ , Roy thinks, wiggling a little in the chair so that Ed fits more snugly against him.

“What?” Ed mutters.

And Roy starts. _Shit, shit, shit_ , he had not meant to say anything aloud. Searching around for the right words to salvage the situation, he blurts the first thing that comes to his mind.

That happens to be, “I said I’m thinking about getting a dog.”

Ed, who is too far gone to even notice the difference between the two statements, nods against Roy’s shoulder.

“You should do it. Dogs ’r great. Wish Al liked them,” he says, a little mournfully, “’stead of fuckin cats.”

Roy looks down at the top of Ed’s bright, golden head and smiles. “That’s fine. I’ll get one and you can come visit.”

“Just don’t… don’t name it anything stupid. Like Sunshine or Serendipity,” Ed says. “Because that sounds like something you’d do.”

“I would not!” he exclaims indignantly.

“You fucking would, you hippy weirdo,” Ed says, but Roy can feel Ed smiling against his arm.

* * *

Something changes after the Halloween party.

There’s nothing quite like getting really drunk with someone to break down a whole hell of a lot of barriers. And despite the fact that things get hazy towards the end of the night, Ed is pretty sure that he didn’t make _too_ big a fool of himself. Mostly he just had a lot of fun hanging out with Roy.

It was weird, spending time with him outside of the gym. Weird but good. Even if it was mostly the effect of the alcohol, seeing Roy let loose for once was actually pretty fucking entertaining.

The worst thing that drunk Ed did was touching Roy. Kind of a lot, actually. Nothing _too_ inappropriate, but Ed seemed to have a hard time keeping his hands to himself. Roy had neither seemed to mind nor made any comment so Ed is willing to chalk it all up to drunk friendliness on both of their parts.

Though sober Ed does have to thank drunk Ed for the fact that he now knows what it feels like to be pressed against Roy’s side. His last memory of the night, before Al had swooped in and dragged him home, is of practically snuggling up to Roy in that ridiculously massive armchair. He’d feel more embarrassed about it if Roy hadn’t essentially returned the favor, slumping over to lean against Ed in turn as his buzz wore off too.

Honestly, all of that can easily be explained away thanks to the combination of alcohol, gravity, and exhaustion. If Roy makes an issue of it, Ed can still get out scot-free. Really he’s just grateful that his big mouth kept itself mostly in check. Yeah he went on a weird string theory rant after that Jägerbomb (which by the fucking way he is never going to drink ever again) but nothing too incriminating managed to escape.

And honestly, the fact that Roy had just listened and smiled instead of telling Ed to shut the fuck up about science was kind of a magical experience, and not one that he’s ever really had with anyone besides Al.

Point is, it was a great night, and relatively tame, which is why it’s so surprising that the next time he and Roy meet for a session, Ed feels like something is different. It’s nothing big, nothing that Ed can really put his finger on, but he is keenly aware of its presence any time the two of them occupy the same space in the weeks that follow.

It makes him kind of itchy; similar to the way he feels when he knows that people are staring at him. But unlike the sick uneasiness that particular scenario causes, this just makes him feel kind of giddy. It’s a little like he’s on a rollercoaster that has gone over a major drop.

It’s fucking weird.

To be honest, Ed’s sort of worried that he’s going insane from too much stress, or too much yoga, or – more likely – incredible amounts of unresolved sexual tension. Because this new thing that hums in the air between him and Roy feels an awful lot like desire. But that’s ridiculous.

Roy is the kind of hot that makes people walk into things because they’re too busy staring at him. He’s the kind of hot that makes people give him discounts and agree to his requests just because they like the way he looks.

He’s the kind of hot that actually catches Edward Elric’s attention and makes him think about anything other than theoretical physics for the first time in two years.

And Ed is Ed. Average height. Average face. And, oh yeah, missing two of his _fucking limbs_.

He’s also socially awkward, foul-mouthed, and stubborn. And despite the fact that he’s slowly developing a pretty serious yoga habit of his own, he still enjoys insulting the thing that Roy has dedicated his life to teaching.

So, really, the idea of Roy being attracted to him is laughable at best.

But if it’s not attraction, then Ed doesn’t know _what_ it could be.

And he really doesn’t like not knowing things, which is why he’s still thinking about it at eleven thirty that night, hours after his session has ended.

Ed’s sitting in Nina’s, the 24 hour coffee shop located conveniently between his apartment and the campus. He's supposed to be working on his dissertation, but all that he's managed to do for the last three hours is type and delete the same sentence four times.

His brain is not even remotely interested in cooperating with him.

Ed grinds the heel of his left hand into his eye socket, trying to chase away an oncoming headache, before picking up his coffee and taking a drink. Belatedly, he realizes that the last time he touched the cup was close to an hour before. The coffee has gone cold and sour and he nearly gags at the taste.

"Oh fuck my life," Ed mutters venomously after he finally manages to choke it down.

"Ed?" says a voice behind him.

Startled, he spins around, so fast that he almost falls out of his chair. He catches himself at the last second, which _thank fuck_ , because the person standing behind him is none other than Roy.

He looks perfect as usual, if not a bit tired.

He's dressed in dark jeans and a dark grey long sleeved shirt, with a black coat folded over one arm and a cream scarf around his neck. It’s the first time that Ed has seen him out of athletic wear and Roy looks... really fucking good in street clothes. Which is not to say that he doesn't look good normally, because he definitely does.

But, his non-athletic gear is a lot more... reserved than what Ed is used to seeing him in and there's an echo chamber effect between Roy and what he’s wearing right now – the clothes make him look like a male model and he in turn makes the clothes look about a billion times better than they would on anyone else.

It defies all logic. And apparently also shuts Ed's brain off because by the time he actually registers that he's supposed to say something back to Roy, he's already spent an awkwardly long time just staring at the yoga instructor like a creeper.

"What are you doing here?" Ed says and then, realizing that he's being rude, he says, "I mean. Not that you can't be here, I guess, but. Isn't it kind of late for you, or something?"

Roy gestures with the large to-go cup in the hand not holding his coat. "Riza made me stay late to look over the contracts for the new pro-shop supplier. It took a lot longer than expected though."

"Oh," says Ed awkwardly, "that sucks."

Roy grins, a little crookedly. "Well, I've been telling her that I'd do it for a week so this is my own fault, really. What are _you_ doing here so late?"

Ed sags in his seat. "I'm _supposed_ to be working on my dissertation but. Ugh. My brain is not cooperating tonight and I can't fucking focus. I was trying to work at home, but Al said that all of my pacing around the apartment was going to drive him insane, so he kicked me out."

"How cruel of him," Roy says, obviously fighting back a smile.

Ed shrugs. "Yeah, well, I mean. I guess pacing when you have a metal leg can be a little disruptive and he does have to be up in a few hours for lab. It just sucks because I have to sit still in public and I think a lot better on my feet."

Roy actually does smile at that one.

"Why doesn't this surprise me?" He says, then looking pointedly at the empty chair across from Ed he asks, "Well, if you're not working do you mind if I join you for a bit? It's quite cold out right now and it would be nice to thaw out here for a while before heading home."

Ed shrugs, but his stomach does this really obnoxious flipping thing, because _Roy wants to sit with him_ at this tiny table in a coffee shop, and this feels awfully date-like.

 _Don't fucking go there_ , he tells himself, because being attracted to Roy is one thing, but anything more...

 _Oh hell no._ Ed's not doing this, not here, not now.

"Suit yourself," he says, shoving a bunch of papers to the side so that the yoga instructor can set his drink down.

"Many thanks," Roy says, draping his coat over the back of the chair, and dropping into the seat. He looks down at the mess of materials on the table. "You know, I don't think I've ever asked what your dissertation is about."

Ed gives Roy an incredulous look.

"Are you sure you really want to know?" he asks.

Roy shrugs and says, "Why wouldn't I?"

"Remember the Halloween party? That wasn’t the alcohol talking… well… okay… some of that might have been the alcohol, but mostly that was just me. When I talk science, I get carried away. Most people just find it boring, s'all." Ed says, fidgeting with a stack of notes on lined paper, looking away from Roy. "Or they don't get it and then act like I'm trying to confuse them on purpose. Which would be stupid, but whatever."

The problem is that the area of physics that Ed studies is really fucking complicated. Like. Mind-bendingly, logic-shatteringly complicated. And he really gets excited about this shit so his brain starts spitting out information so fast that his mouth can barely keep up, much less the person that he's talking to.

Ed does try to dumb it down, he really does. But it’s _hard._ These are not subjects that take well to being dumbed down. The result is that most people actually cannot stand to listen to him rambling about science.

Undeterred, Roy says, "Trust me, I wouldn't have asked if I wasn't genuinely interested. I found your conversation to be fascinating, if not a little hard to follow because of the slurring. "

Ed gives him a 'you asked for it' look, then choosing his words carefully, says, "I guess in layman’s terms you'd call it looking for the theory of everything. I'm trying to write an equation that unifies all the major forces in the universe. You know, gravity, quantum mechanics, and all the other shit."

Roy looks intrigued.

"Right now there’s two main theories for describing the way that matter behaves. The theory of relativity describes gravity and how large things behave. Then there's quantum mechanics which explain how stuff on the subatomic level works. Which, I should mention," Ed says with a wry smile, "is completely batshit.”

“I am passingly familiar with the subject,” Roy says, “I took a few physics courses in college.”

“Good, then I don’t need to bore you with that lecture too,” Ed says. ”So anyway, both of these theories have been mathematically proven over and over but somewhere between them there is a point where one ends and the other theory begins. And sometimes you can kind of…” Ed waves his hand a little, as if he’s swatting away a particularly pesky fly, “I dunno... under the right circumstances, you can ignore one theory and it’s fine.”

Unconsciously he reaches up, taking hold of the end of his bright gold ponytail, and twisting the hair through his hand.

“Like... measuring really big stuff, you can just throw quantum mechanics out the window and vice versa with theory of relativity and extremely small things. But every once in awhile you run into problems where you need both." Hand sliding away from his hair, Ed leans back in his seat and crosses his arms over his chest. "It’s mostly shit like black holes, which _were_ massive stars and balls of matter and are now infinitesimally tiny. Or the Big Bang. Nothing exploding into something. Small into large. You need both theories to describe this shit and the scientific community can’t seem to make them mesh."

“I see,” Roy says, comprehension dawning in his dark eyes. “You’re trying to stitch them together to explain the places where they _must_ overlap.”

“That’s a simplified way of looking at it, but you’re essentially right." Ed leans forward again, and says, “A lot of scientists have theorized that the reason that the two forces are not playing well mathematically is that we’re missing part of the equation. Like…”

He breaks off and grabs a spare sheet of paper and a pen, and begins to write a simple equation on it. “It’s actually a lot like trying to solve A+B+C=X when you only know the values of A and B. All that you know is that A+B has to equal X-C.”

He glances up to see Roy nodding slightly as he watches Ed work.

“So the fact that things aren’t adding up tells you that there’s something else there,” he says, sounding a bit impressed. “Such simple algebra to explain such a complex concept.”

“Exactly!” Ed says, enthusiastically. “And I’ve had this theory for a while that the thing that was missing is the same force that keeps pushing our universe outwards. It’s something called Dark Energy. Which. Man, if it wasn’t the middle of the night, I could go into more, but that’s a whole massive tangent. So. Let’s not go there right now.”

“You will just have to tell me about it some other time, then,” Roy says, taking a sip of his coffee and giving Ed a warm smile over the lid. Ed’s mouth goes dry. He suddenly wishes that his own coffee had not gone off because he could use a drink right now.

“If you really want, then sure.” The words come out slightly more raspy than intended. Ed clears his throat. “But for now let’s just stick with this: Dark Energy is a fucking mystery in a lot of ways. The where, why, and how of it are all mostly unknown.”

Roy makes a “hmm” noise.

“So we really don’t know much, but what we do know is that Dark Energy was a phenomenon that was around at the beginning of everything. I think if I can figure out how exactly this stuff is pushing against the fabric of our universe and where it’s coming from, I’ll be able to actually use that to unify the other theories into a single equation that tells the whole story.”

“It would be that comprehensive?” Roy asks, “I’m not entirely sure that I can even wrap my head around the idea that so much could be explained by a single equation.”

“Well, it’s not like it could predict the future or tell us _literally_ everything but yeah, there’s a lot that this equation stands to explain. And that would be fucking incredible, Roy. The stuff we could learn about space and time…” He sucks in a breath and looks into the older man’s eyes. “If I make this work, I could explain the birth of the universe from the second that it happened. Maybe even figure out what came before that.”

"That is quite the endeavor you’ve signed up for," says Roy, and there’s a definite note of awe in his voice. It makes Ed feel kind of warm.

He grins. "Well, you know me. I like a challenge."

“You don’t say,” Roy says dryly, lips curving up at the corners in a grin.

“But _anyway_ ,” Ed says, ignoring the sarcasm, “the thing is, coming up with this equation is fucking hard because, to be honest, we can't really prove that Dark Energy exists the way we think it does. All we know right now is that if it didn’t, then the universe would fly apart. Which is all kinds of horrifying to think about on it’s own But. That’s _another_ tangent. Right, you following this so far?"

“More or less,” says Roy, resting his elbows on the table and steepling his fingers in front of his mouth.

“Well, last year I built a machine. A Dark Energy Catcher, I guess. I hate calling it that because it sounds like something out of fucking Star Wars. Which it absolutely isn’t.” He scowls. “But whatever, that’s what it does. Two months ago, I got it to work. Sort of. I found traces of… _something_ that has never been measured before.”

Ed’s heart pounds, the way that it always does when he talks about this. His lifetime of work and study is finally starting to pay off. He feels like he’s strapped to a comet, hurtling towards the inevitable discovery of something radical and revolutionary.

“The data is so strange that I can’t be sure what it is that I’ve picked up on. Which makes sense, in a frustrating sort of way, because if it wasn’t strange then I’d know that it wasn’t what I was looking for. It’s a big damn catch twenty two."

Ed knows that he’s talking too loudly, too exuberantly, but he doesn't care. He's in his element now.

"Fuck, this is so exciting but it’s also terrifying because I’m still working without all the information and if I get too far along before knowing what’s missing then all my work could have been for nothing. I feel like I’m on the right track – I fucking hope I am anyway – because if I’ve discovered what I think I have, then it’s going to change human understanding of the universe forever."

Ed would bet that he probably looks more than a little manic. Talking about this stuff has that effect on him and it's hard to fight back the desire to get up and shout to the ceiling about how cool the universe is. Roy doesn't seem, to mind though. He shakes his head back and forth slowly in wonder, and there's a kind of soft smile playing around his lips.

Which is. _Unexpected? Hot?_ Ed settles on weird and chalks it up to the lateness of the hour. Maybe Roy’s just trying not to laugh.

"I'm lost in the kind of equation soup that happens when you start trying to mesh theories together with mystery data and it's just. Fucking exciting but also frustrating. I'm just hoping that this time when I _do_ get the equation right, I don't break the laws of known physics because I honestly think someone's gonna have me killed if I do it again."

Roy, who had just taken a drink, chokes on his coffee.

"What?" He says, once he recovers, eyebrows shooting towards his hairline.

"Oh, yeah. Uh. That happened.” Ed says, rubbing the back of his neck, “Like three times actually. But really it was more annoying than anything– why are you laughing?”

In the very rare instance when this particular conversation actually gets to this point without the other party getting fed up, this is usually when they start heaping flattery and empty praise on him. Because they are invariably other scientists or people who've decided that he's smart and they can use him for their own ends.

But Roy. Fucking Roy. The bastard just _throws his head back and laughs_. Which is like a revelation. Because Roy has a really nice laugh. It’s deep and rich, and even if Ed is kind of afraid that Roy thinks he’s a super nerd, he can’t help the fact that the sound makes him feel warm and kind of tingly all over.

"I’m sorry, I’m sorry! I’m not laughing at you,” Roy says, once he regains control of himself. “It’s just that you’re talking so casually about undoing the laws of physics, and it's really not fair for you to be both incredibly brilliant and stunning, you know."

Ed flushes at the compliment, shocked and thrilled in equal measure. He knows that his entire face must be cherry red, but he’s having a really hard time caring about that. Roy thinks he’s good looking. Roy who is so handsome that it sometimes hurts to look at him, thinks that _Ed_ is _stunning_.

“Stop joking around, you bastard,” Ed says, giving Roy the best scowl he can muster while freaking out internally.

“I would never joke about something so serious,” Roy says. His eyes are all crinkled up with mirth and he's giving Ed this thousand-watt grin that threatens to blind everyone in their general vicinity.

Ed's heart begins to beat like it's trying to break free of his chest and he forgets how to breathe.

And just like that, the fucking door that he's been trying to keep shut in his head for weeks now, the one labeled " _danger, open at your own risk_ " comes busting wide open.

Somewhere along the line, this totally harmless… well… _mostly_ harmless interest in Roy has turned into _feelings_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was the part where I realized that I had made a miscalculation when I predicted the final word count and that this story was going to be LONG.
> 
> If you're enjoying this so far please let me know! The next part will be up soon! XOXO


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy October 3rd!
> 
> I was hoping to have this out in time and luck (plus the world's greatest beta, edroys) was on my side!

Ever since he came back from Afghanistan, Roy has participated in a family-style Thanksgiving dinner with Riza and the Hughes’s. It is an occasion that he looks forward to every year, no matter what else might be going on in his life.

Thanksgiving is a time, fittingly enough, for Roy to remind himself exactly how lucky he is that he is still here and that he still has these people in his life.

After all, it was a very near thing that they all made it back in one piece.

Roy and Riza had both sustained their fair share of battle damage during their time in the desert hell. But Maes almost died, gunned down by an insurgent dressed as an American soldier. Worse than that, it had later been revealed that the man who had taken the shot had originally been aiming for Roy.

While Maes lay in the hospital camp, tenuously caught between life and death, Roy had very nearly lost his humanity.

Guilt and rage and a horrible, sick thirst for the blood of the soldier who had gunned down his friend had suffused Roy for days. When he had caught wind that the military was planning to ship the man off to a prison for questioning and out of his reach, he had taken matters into his own hands. Roy used his rank to break into the basecamp’s prison compound and leveled his gun at the man’s face.

It had only been through Riza’s intervention – standing in his line of fire, pointing her own gun at him and telling him to stand down before he did something unforgivable – that Roy had been prevented from making the greatest mistake of his life.

“This isn’t you,” she’d said, hands trembling but aim true nonetheless, “and you will have to go through me if you want to kill this man.”

Roy can still remember the monumental effort that it took for him to lower his own gun and the sudden numbness that had overcome his body, sending him crashing to his knees.

Riza had calmly re-secured the prisoner and then helped Roy to his feet, leading him out of the compound and into the cold night air of the desert. She’d held him in her arms for hours, not saying a word, while he had shaken, vented, raged, and then finally fallen silent.

By the time the doctors came to find him with the news that Maes had stabilized, Roy was calm once more.

So yeah, these people mean everything to him, and this yearly event is a pretty sacred tradition in Roy’s book.

This time is Roy’s turn to host, and he’s planning on making both a tofurkey and – because he loves his friends _very much_ – he has agreed to cook a real turkey as well. He’s actually a pretty decent chef, though he does tend to burn things if someone isn’t there to keep an eye on the clock for him. Thankfully Riza comes straight over the day before to help with last minute shopping and the food preparation.

Roy would like to think that it’s just out of the goodness of her own heart, but the minute the door to his garage closes behind them she reveals her true motive for catching him alone where he can’t escape or hide behind the Hughes’s.

“What are you going to do about Edward Elric?” she asks, as they walk across Roy’s living room into his spacious kitchen.

The room is one of his favorite spaces in the house. It is all exposed red brick walls, rustic wooden cabinets, and shiny black marble countertops. The brushed iron light fixture that dangles from the nearly twenty foot ceiling is a reclaimed piece that he and Maes had installed themselves right after Roy bought the place. As they secured everything carefully into the ceiling, Gracia had fretted below, finger poised to dial 911 if either of them so much as wobbled on their ladders.

Despite the building’s industrial aesthetic, Roy had been careful to keep it from feeling too cold. A home, as far as he is concerned, should always be a warm space. So he had decorated the walls with bright artwork and insisted on finding brass-toned appliances. Something that took forever, but was completely worth it in his opinion.

“Come on, Riza…” he says, putting the grocery bags on the counter. “Do we really have to talk about this now?”

She crosses her arms and pins him with a glare. “It’s been nearly three months since you started teaching him privately, you haven’t so much as _looked_ at anyone else in that entire time, and you’re still acting weird. So _yes_ we have to talk about this now _._ ”

Roy sighs and braces his arms against the counter.

“I don’t know,” he says, letting his head fall forwards and closing his eyes, “I don’t know what I’m going to do about Ed.”

“You really shouldn’t have started training him one on one, you know,” Riza says as she begins pulling things out of the bags and setting them on the counter.

His lips twist as he looks over at her. “Yeah, I’m well aware. It was dumb. I can’t even tell you why I offered to take him on as a client. I just heard him say that he liked my class and I lost my mind. I mean, there’s basically no way that this doesn’t end badly for both of us.”

Riza’s eyes soften a little. “I suppose it is worth noting that you do still like him after getting to know him. Most of the time you get over people as soon as you have to see them for any extended period of time.”

“Present company excluded,” Roy says, winking.

She punches his shoulder, maybe a little harder than is really necessary. “Be serious for once in your life, would you please?”

Roy gives her an ironic grin and inclines his head, acknowledging her point. “Alright, alright. And if anything, I actually like him _more_ now that I’ve gotten to see some of what’s hiding under all his attitude. God, Riza, he’s _amazing_.”

Sticking vegetables into the crisper drawer of the refrigerator, she looks over her shoulder at him.

“Do you think there’s any chance that he’s interested?” Riza asks.

Roy snorts and shakes his head. “I think he thinks I’m a ‘sadistic bastard’ and a ‘crazy hippy’. His words.”

She laughs. “Well, somehow you are both of those things, so he’s not wrong. But just because he likes to insult you doesn’t mean that he’s not interested. You’re sure that he’s never shown any sign of being attracted to you?”

Roy’s been… testing the waters, so to speak. Flirting, in a non-aggressive and mostly friendly fashion, just to see what Ed will do. But he’s been very careful never to cross any lines that can’t be written off as him just being perhaps overly gregarious or complimentary. And for the most part, Ed has reacted with confusion. So Roy is about to say that no, he’s definitely sure this is a one sided thing, when a memory from their last session flashes in his mind.

Roy had been digging through a drawer in the studio, looking for the remote control for the sound system, and he’d glanced up just in time to see Ed’s eyes, fixed on him for the briefest second, with an expression of pure want, that was so burning hot and _hungry_ that it stole his breath.

And then another memory, alcohol-hazy from the Halloween party, of Ed plastering himself against Roy’s side, pressing his face into Roy’s chest to muffle a laugh, drunk and happy. There are others too, small things that when taken in aggregate could potentially add up to something larger. Their quiet conversations in the yoga studio and the way that Ed sometimes lingers after lessons now to drink coffee with him. The playful back and forth of their banter across texts, and facebook, and best of all, in person.

“Huh,” says Roy, wondering if this is just his desperate mind imposing itself on reality, or if he really has, in an effort to shield his heart from disappointment, blinded himself to something as enormous as Ed actually reciprocating his attraction.

“What is it?” Riza asks.

“I’m not sure,” Roy says, absently running his finger back and forth along his chin, “but… maybe I just haven’t been paying close enough attention.”

* * *

Thanksgiving for the Elrics has always been something of a to-do, and despite all of Ed’s bitching, he actually does make a holiday hatred exception for Thanksgiving because it is mostly about food and family, and he’s kind of big into both of those things.

Since their mother died and their dad went walkabout, Ed and Al have had Thanksgiving dinner at the Rockbell’s home in Risembool, a tiny town two hours north of Amestris, where they were all born and raised.

Since the Elrics and Winry moved into Amestris for school, that means a small road trip home every year.

Al does the driving. Mostly because Ed freaking hates to drive – his concentration only lasts so long and then he gets bored and distracted and the knowledge that he’s being a terribly unsafe driver freaks him out – and Winry is a menace behind the wheel. She drives too fast and thinks that turn signals are optional. She should know better, but that doesn’t seem to matter.

Also Winry’s car is a terrifying sports car that does not have a proper back seat so that thankfully rules it out for most excursions anyway.

Ed climbs into the back of Al’s silver Honda CR-V, straps himself in and then turns so that he can stretch his legs out across the whole back seat. The trunk of the car is stuffed with suitcases and gifts for Pinako and all of the floor space in the back of the car is taken up by what Winry has jokingly been calling her “carry on luggage”. Which is to say, there are two large boxes of spare mechanical parts and tools that she is hauling home to tinker with over their short vacation.

Once Al and Winry have gotten settled in the front seat, Al starts the car, plugs in his music, and they pull out onto the road.

Being that it is the night before Thanksgiving, the traffic is fairly heavy. They’re missing the worst of Amestris’s fairly significant rush hour though, by leaving the city around nine that evening. Yeah, they’ll get into Risembool after eleven o’clock, but it’s better than sitting in traffic for three hours.

Ed slips on his headphones, cranking up the volume so that he can hear the White Stripes over Al’s really awful EDM music. He pulls the book that he has been slowly working his way through for the last month out of his backpack and flips it open.

The text is boring, dry and complex, written by a man who absolutely did not care whatsoever about the people who might actually have to read his work someday. For the most part, Ed doesn’t mind. It's not easy going, but he’s getting what he needs from it, and he’s not exactly looking for entertainment here.

If he wanted that, he’d just text Roy.

Which.

That’s not a bad idea.

He’s only been reading for a few minutes, but he sets the book aside and pulls his phone out of the pocket of his hoodie.

 _‘Whats up?’_ he types.

Does that sound too friendly? Is texting Roy out of the blue for no reason, other than to talk, too much to begin with? Maybe he should go more casual and disinterested. Granted, Roy does text him pretty often these days and it’s only yoga related about fifty percent of the time. Mostly he’s just bored between clients and wants Ed to distract him.

He deletes the original message and writes, _‘sup’_.

Then he deletes that too because he doesn’t talk like that, and he’s sure as hell not gonna text like that either.

In the end, he goes with _‘what are you doing for thanksgiving’_ and hits send before he can chicken out.

 _Having dinner with Riza and a couple of old friends. How about you?’_ comes the almost immediate response.

Ed wonders if Roy ever puts his phone down when he’s not in a yoga lesson. He would bet that he could text the man at four in the morning and get a response right away.

 _‘Going back home with al and winry for the weekend,’_ he says, _‘currently sitting in the back of als car judging his music choices’_

_‘Oh? What is he listening to?’_

Ed slides his headphones off of his ears and leans forward to ask his brother, “What are you listening to?”

Al’s golden eyes look surprised in the rear-view mirror. “I didn’t realize you cared what I had on the stereo, since you have your headphones on.”

“I don’t, but Roy wants to know,” Ed says and he realizes his mistake _immediately_ because the surprise turns into glee.

“Oh _Roy_ wants to know, huh?” Al asks.

“Shut the fuck up. I’m just telling him so he can help me judge you for your dumb taste in music,” Ed says, scrunching down in the back seat and glowering at the back of his brother’s head.

“Yeah, but the point is: you guys are texting about non-yoga things, Ed,” says Winry, who is now getting involved because that’s what she does. “That’s progress!”

“Ugh will you both stop?” Ed grumbles, regretting everything.

“Say hi to Roy for us!” says Winry before Ed pulls his headphones back on.

 _‘hes listening to some garbage with a lot of base and really stupid lyrics that was probably written by a guy who wears fake glasses,’_ Ed texts back, _‘because he has no taste’_

 _‘Hahahaha!’_ is Roy’s response, _‘You have my condolences. :(’_

Ed grins at his phone. Texting with Roy is like an instant mood-booster. It’s kind of silly because it’s not like it’s _real_ interaction, but every message makes him feel giddy and happy and fills his stomach with wildly swooping butterflies.

He feels like he’s an addict getting his fix.

Which, is a fairly apt metaphor actually, because he’s done some dumb things in order to get more Roy in his life, and he’d do dumber if he thought that it would keep him there.

* * *

Roy gets up earlier than usual on Thanksgiving morning to heat up his oven and start cooking. Riza’s help the night before means that the turkey is brined and ready to go.

“Just put the pan in the oven Roy, you don’t even have to touch the bird if you don’t want to,” Riza had told him, exasperated, as she covered the metal cooking tray in cling wrap and stuck it in the fridge.

Most of the sides have also been prepped, he just needs to flavor the tofurkey and heat everything up. And make the salad. And the vegan gravy. And put the pie filling in the crust, and put a top on it, and bake it. So okay, he actually has kind of a lot left to do.

The guests will be arriving around noon and if he times everything right, they will be eating by one.

He putters around the kitchen, getting everything in order and ready to go, and then once he is certain that there is nothing more he can do until the oven preheats, he decides that it’s time for some yoga. It has been a while since he's had time to do it for himself and it will be good to work out the tension in his lower back.

Leaving the oven to warm up, he goes upstairs and changes into his at home yoga pants – a pair of skintight leggings made out of a purple galaxy print spandex. He bought these on clearance at Lululemon before their men's line had gotten all boring. These pants are so wild that Riza has actually banned him from wearing them in the gym because, according to her, they distracted the clients.

Roy thinks she’s just being ridiculous, but what can he do? While they might be equal partners on paper, he is well aware that Riza is the real boss. His pants are awesome though, and it’s just too bad that they will never see the light of day outside of his house.

He unrolls his mat and takes a seated meditation pose.

The living room has an open space between the coffee table and the TV stand that is more than large enough for Roy to do even the most fully extended poses in. It could very likely fit another person too, especially if they were on the shorter side, and the two of them were doing partner yoga with a shared mat.

And now that’s a thought.

The idea of doing couple’s yoga poses with Ed has obviously occurred to Roy before. He’s never brought it up partially because Ed isn’t experienced enough yet and partially because Roy is honestly afraid to know what Ed’s reaction might be.

He’s not sure what would be worse: having him reject it out of hand or Ed actually being gung-ho to try, resulting in the two of them twisting around each other for an hour.

But that’s reality.

In fantasyland… Well. Things are different in fantasyland and Roy let’s his mind wander.

They’d have to be careful, of course, because of Ed’s Automail, but Roy can imagine lying on his back, supporting Ed’s weight above him, the smaller man’s hips braced on Roy’s feet as he leans down, their hands clasped, faces nearly touching. Ed’s golden hair would be loose because it would never get in the way in a fantasy, and it would hang like a curtain of sunshine, tickling against Roy’s skin. And he’d be smirking, and probably talking, because it would seem that even fantasy Ed is incapable of quiet seriousness.

But that’s okay, because this version of the blond is telling Roy that if he can hold him like this for twenty more seconds without dropping him, then Ed will let him pick the next pose they try in bed. His eyes burn like fire as he leans down further to bite at Roy’s lip and– _whoa there._

Roy sucks in a breath. It’s not like this is the first time he’s fantasized about Ed, not by a long shot, but he’s usually pretty good about keeping his focus while he’s doing yoga. It would seem, however, that Ed is worming his way even deeper into Roy’s brain.

He’s already half hard and he feels a little shaken, as if he was woken in the middle of a REM cycle.

The clock on the wall reads seven thirty two and the oven still hasn’t beeped. He also hasn't even gotten into his flow or done anything other than meditate yet.

Roy runs a hand through his hair. With his limited time, he has two options: to finish his flow and take a fast shower before he has to get cooking again, or to abandon the pretense completely and disappear into his fantasy world with fantasy Ed for a bit, while he deals with the insistent throb in his groin.

 _I’m going to hell,_ he thinks as he rolls up his yoga mat and sticks it in the large umbrella stand where it lives when it's not in use.

But the heat of his shower is calling as is the allure of an Ed who wants Roy as unreservedly as Roy wants him.

* * *

“Pass the potatoes,” says Ed around a mouthful of Turkey and stuffing.

“‘Pass the potatoes’ _what_ , Edward?” says Pinako, glaring at him sternly from across the table.

“Please?” says Ed, chagrined.

She passes the potatoes to Winry, who takes some and then passes them to Ed. Pinako sits on one side of the table with Al to her left and Winry to her right, and Ed occupying the spot across from her. It’s the way that they always sit whenever they’re at home together.

This Thanksgiving is amazing. Pinako, who is a great cook but does not do it very often now that the children are out of the house, has outdone herself, and the heavily picked over spread on the table before them is evidence of that.

Everyone is still eating, though most of them have slowed down by this point. Ed is on helping number three and he’s fast approaching the point of being full. Despite Al’s claims that Ed can put away more food than an NFL linebacker, and is probably putting some of it inside of his Automail leg, he does in fact have limits. Also Winry baked an apple pie for dessert, so. Ed needs to save a little room.

It’s hard to stop though, everything is delicious and it’s so rare that he gets to have a home-cooked meal these days. This is so much better than instant noodles and Doritos so he's going to eat as much as he damn well pleases.

He scoops mashed potatoes onto his plate then sets the bowl back down and looks around at his family.

His perfect little brother, face full and healthy flushed with laughter and joy. Stubborn, wonderful Winry who has always been more like his sister than his friend, who is smiling at Al with eyes so full of love that they almost sparkle. And steady, pragmatic Pinako who is observing all of them with an expression of deep satisfaction and pride.

And of course, Den, the elderly family dog, who is lying under Ed’s feet, occasionally looking up to see if he has any food scraps to spare.

Ed loves everyone in this room. His heart beats and he breathes in and out for them. But for the first time, when he looks at them, he does not feel the same total confidence that the rest of the world could fall away and he would still have everything that he needs.

That thought makes his heart squeeze. He’s not sure why. He’s not sure what’s missing. All he knows is that something has changed and his world is _bigger_ now.

Pinako catches a look at his expression and raises one of her steel gray brows at him.

“Why the long face, Edward?” She asks, “Potatoes not to your liking any more?”

Ed forces a smile onto his face.

“Sorry Granny, I think I ate too much,” he says, letting out a small chuckle for effect.

Winry huffs. “As if; he’s been moping since we left Amestris. I bet he’s missing Roy.”

“Do you _ever_ mind your own business?” asks Ed, as he pins her with a glare. He keeps trying to call back the warm, fuzzy feelings of a moment before, but it’s not working.

“Why would I when yours is so much more fun and interesting?” Winry fires back, batting her lashes at him.

“Who’s Roy?” Pinako asks, interrupting the argument that is brewing between Ed and Winry.

“Roy Mustang is Ed’s yoga instructor,” says Al.

“And Ed _likes_ him!” Winry crows, giving Ed one of her most evil smirks.

“Winry!” Ed cries, gaping at her. “And what is all this _likes_ crap anyway? This is not fucking high school.”

“Watch your language, Edward,” says Pinako, both of her eyebrows now floating high above her rimless glasses. “And how long has this been going on?”

“It hasn’t been going on! There’s nothing to _be_ going on!” Ed says, burying his face in his hands. His family is going to be the death of him.

“Brother, the more you deny it, the less we believe you,” Al tells him, “and honestly, you can say whatever you want, but I caught you guys all snuggled up on Halloween.”

Ed gapes. His brother did _not_ just betray him like that. Except that he did. Ed is _never_ going to let him have a cat now.

Pinako laughs. “Now that sounds like a story, if I’ve ever heard one.”

“You all suck,” says Ed venomously. “We were just really drunk and kind of fell asleep in a chair at a club. It’s not a big deal. Now will you stop worrying about my completely fictional love life already? Don’t you guys have a shiny new relationship to tell Granny about?”

Pinako, who has just lit her long pipe, leans back in her chair and blows out a stream of smoke. They’ve all been after her to stop smoking for years, but Pinako is eighty four and at this point the chances are slim that she’s actually going to listen.

“Edward, my granddaughter tells me what’s going on in her life every time she calls. You on the other hand act like your daily activities are a state secret. So tell me more about this Roy.”

“He owns a gym,” Al says, grinning.

“He’s really hot,” says Winry and Al doesn’t even flinch at that one, just nods in agreement. Which – if Ed wasn’t so totally _pissed_ at the two of them for being dicks after he was just feeling so affectionate about them – would probably make him feel all proud of their relationship for being so stable or whatever.

“He has awful taste in gym clothes, he’s a vegan, and sometimes I think he is actively trying to snap my spine in half. Why would I be attracted to this guy?” Ed groans.

In the end, Ed escapes to the kitchen to avoid their taunting. He knows it all in jest and they really do love him, but he gets a sort of see-saw sick feeling in his gut any time someone mentions ‘feelings’ and ‘Roy’ in the same sentence.

Because yeah. It’s true. He does like Roy. A lot. But that’s it. It’s not like he feels like his whole world is teetering on an unsteady foundation because he does not know if his feelings are reciprocated. It’s not like Ed’s life is no longer complete when they’re not together. It’s just _not_.

That would be crazy.

Right?

But still, having his weird crush put under a microscope is too much for him right now, so he goes to wash dishes and sulk. By that point the conversation has moved on to other things, but Ed’s mood is decidedly soured.

He’s rinsing off a plate to stick it in the dishwasher when the sound of footsteps alerts him to another presence in the room. Al comes to stand beside him at the sink, rolling up his sleeves and picking up a sponge.

“I want you to know, Ed, that as much as we tease you, we really do mean no harm. It all comes from a place of love and a desire to see you happy,” he says quietly.

Ed sighs.

“I know. And I wouldn’t put up with it if I didn’t. But…”

Al passes him a scrubbed dish to rinse off and put in the dishwasher. “But sometimes you wish we wouldn’t pry so much, right?”

“That’s definitely one way of putting it,” Ed says, with a sigh.

“Well I’ll say this before I drop the subject: you deserve to be happy. In or out of a relationship, with Roy or anyone else. Just do what feels right for you, okay?”

Al smiles at him and Ed’s heart feels so full that it’s going to burst. Yes his family drives him up the wall, but man does he love them all the same.

* * *

“Look, Maes, I’m just saying that you can do more with digital photography than you ever could with film, okay?” says Roy as he holds open the door to Nina’s so that the two of them can enter.

He and Maes have just come from taking a yoga class together; something that neither one of them has had time to do recently and that they had both vowed to make happen more frequently on Thanksgiving. Fuery’s Relaxation class has been a favorite for Roy and whenever he gets the chance to take one, he always leaves feeling great. The kid has a great presence as a teacher.

Maes on the other hand always seems to get kind of riled up after yoga, which doesn’t make any sense, but maybe it’s because he’s normally such a chilled out guy anyway that yoga energizes him instead. But regardless of the reason, a riled up Maes is a Maes who will pontificates endlessly about his family at great length unless he is derailed. Thankfully, Roy is gret at that. And bringing up the death of film photography – a phenomenon that has been driving Maes crazy for the last decade – is working quite well.

It’s pouring down freezing rain outside so once they have safely passed into the shelter of the cafe, Roy closes his umbrella and shoves his damp hair out of his eyes, swweping it backwards off of his forehead. The inside of Nina’s is warm and bright as usual and the scent of coffee lifts his spirits instantly.

Being in Nina’s also reminds him of the evening he spent here with Ed a few weeks back. Getting up the next morning at six had been nearly impossible, but Roy wouldn’t have traded that conversation for anything. He’d gotten a glimpse for the first time into the true genius that Ed harbored within him, and it was breathtaking.

“I get that, Roy. That is not what I’m objecting to. I just think that it’s a shame that whole part of the art form is being completely lost. And the art of processing a film negative took skill and practice. It wasn’t just something that anyone with access to and iPhone and Instagram could do, you know?” Says Maes, and Roy jolts back to the present.

They pause their conversation to order drinks – Roy gets his usual black coffee and Maes gets a massive hazelnut latte with whipped cream that makes Roy’s lips draw into a tight line of distaste, and then the two of them settle at a table by the window.

Maes sips his latte contentedly and sighs.

“Heaven on earth,” he says, then takes a drink. “Though I am pretty sure that twenty three year old me would be so upset by thirty three year old me; I’ve become so boring, Roy.”

“Oh I don’t think anyone would ever call you boring. Weird definitely, but boring? Never.” Roy smiles sardonically. “Besides I think we’ve both had more than our fair share of adventure. Boring might not be so bad. And honestly, I think twenty three year old you would just be happy to know that he made it to thirty three at all. Back then I don’t think any of us were sure about that happening.”

Maes wraps both hands around his coffee mug but leaves it sitting on the table. He turns to look out the window. Icy rain continues to pour from the sky, and the people on the street hustle by like dark ghosts in black and grey rain gear.

“That’s true. It was pretty touch and go for a while for all of us, huh?”

Roy inclines his head in acknowledgement.

There’s a flicker of gold in the corner of Roy’s vision, it catches his attention because it is so bright against the muted gray of the world. He turns his head to see it more clearly.

Walking quickly down the sidewalk outside is Ed. He is huddled under a large black umbrella and has a backpack slung over one shoulder. His blond head is bowed against the freezing wind and his face is nearly obscured beneath a massive red scarf that is wrapped so many times about his neck and shoulders that it threatens to devour him.

He’s oblivious to Roy’s presence only a few feet and a pane of glass away from him, and Roy can’t think of a way to get his attention without making it weird. His heart thrums at the sight of him, and he realizes that is has been about a week since the last time they saw each other. Ed is scheduled to come in on Tuesday this week and despite the fact that it’s Sunday afternoon now, that seem like far too long to wait.

“What is it?” Maes asks, brows furrowed.

Roy realizes that he has stopped talking and is just staring at Ed like he’s lost his mind.

"That’s Ed,” he says, indicating with his head for Maes to look out the window, “the short blond guy. He’s the one that I was telling you about.”

Maes looks and then he grins. “Roy, you are so predictable, man.”

“What?” says Roy, brows furrowing.

“You have a thing for _blonds_ ,” Maes says, totally delighted.

“I’ve dated plenty of people who weren’t blond, Maes, don’t be ridiculous,” says Roy, giving his friend a flatly unamused look.

“True,” says Maes, “but out of all of those people, you’ve only ever had feelings for two of them. And both of them are blond.”

Roy sighs. "Two people does not a pattern make.”

Maes holds up his hands in surrender, “I’m just saying, you have a type.”

Roy drinks his coffee and definitely _does not_ agree with his friend’s assessment of this situation.

* * *

It’s eight o’clock on a Wednesday night when Ed finds himself at Trader Joe’s.

He’s not here by choice; stupid fancy grocery stores are definitely much more Al’s thing than his. But he really needs more almond milk and the CVS down the street from their apartment doesn’t carry it, because they obviously think it’s okay to discriminate against the lactose intolerant and people who hate dairy products.

He’s trying to decide whether or not to just bite the bullet and get this week’s grocery shopping out of the way while he’s here, when he catches sight of Roy.

Seeing Roy outside of the gym is starting to become a regular occurrence, but it’s still weird. Ed is so distracted that his Automail hand goes a little limp and he has to scramble to catch the carton of almond milk that he’s holding.

Roy is standing by the avocado display, still dressed in emerald green yoga pants and his black coat, making Ed think that he’s probably just about to head home for the day. He’s in profile from Ed’s point of view, and from this vantage point, he can tell that Roy is frowning hard at the mountain of dark green fruits. (And _yes_ they are fruits, they have fucking seeds and Ed will fight anyone who argues otherwise.)

Obviously Roy has not seen him yet, meaning that Ed does have a choice about how to proceed.

He wavers.

Yeah, they’re sort of friends now or something… but… it's still really weird ever time they meet in the world beyond the gym. Their relationship does not fit neatly into a category that has a preordained set of social rules to go along with it. That’s tough for Ed, who basically needs those in order to not humiliate himself and insult other people by accident.

If anyone would like to tell him what the protocol is for running into your yoga instructor and frequent fantasy fodder in a grocery store, now would really be the time, thanks.

But no advice from the universe is forthcoming, and as Ed watches Roy lift a couple of avocados to better inspect them, he decides that he will at least go say hi. After all, that should be safe enough, and he’s not totally without manners.

However, just as Ed begins walking in that direction, Hawkeye strides up to Roy and hands him a shopping basket. She leans in towards him, saying something that Ed is too far away to hear. Roy takes the basket and smiles at her, before saying something which makes her smile a little in return. She touches him gently on the arm, letting her palm rest there for a few seconds longer than just a friendly pat.

Then Roy puts two of the avocados that he was holding into the shopping basket and presses his lips to Hawkeye’s forehead, in a brief kiss. He puts his hand on her back and the two of them turn down the freezer aisle and are gone from Ed’s sight.

Ed’s stomach goes sour. There is a rushing sound in his ears.

 _Ah_ , he thinks, _of course._ He wonders why he didn’t see this before. _It all makes sense._

Of _course_ Roy and Hawkeye are a couple. They own a gym together, they had Thanksgiving together, and from staggering number of photos they have together on facebook, they’re obviously very close. The way the talk, the way they touch each other, their shared army history. It’s so clear when he looks at all the data together. He doesn’t know why Roy’s never said anything, but maybe this is just one of those things where it’s _so_ _obvious_ that he just assumed that Ed knew.

But that’s just too bad because for a genius, Ed can be incredibly slow on the uptake with social shit.

He hears a splash and looks down. He realizes that he’s been holding the almond milk carton in his Automail hand so tightly that it has burst and is spilling all over the floor.

“Fucking perfect,” Ed curses, suddenly filled with the desire to be _anywhere_ but this grocery store. He turns back to the refrigerated shelf, grabs a second carton of almond milk and carries them up to the register.

The cashier, a blond guy whose name tag says “Russell” tells him in an irritated voice that he doesn't need to worry about paying for the damaged carton thanks to company policy, and then seeming to recognize that Ed is not really paying much attention, suckers him into buying a reusable shopping tote.

Ed pays for everything with a stack of crumpled bills from his back pocket, that Russell handles as if they’re toxic waste. Then, almond milk stashed securely in the brightly colored bag that proclaims “ _All is one and one is all: please recycle!_ ”, Ed all but flees from the Trader Joe’s.

* * *

Roy wakes up that Thursday morning feeling slow and sleepy, and rolls over. The last vestiges of a dream involving warm skin and clever fingers and _burning_ golden eyes are still swirling through his head. Roy can almost hear his name, being called like a prayer, like a challenge, and it’s all that he can do not to close his eyes and drop back into slumber.

It’s still dark outside, in the way that early mornings at this time of year tend to be, and only the barest hint of light has begun to creep in through his window. But the clock on his bedside table reads 6:47 AM and that is enough to drag him fully into panicked consciousness.

Somehow, he has managed to sleep through both of his alarms and he is really, _really_ late to leave for his session with Ed.

Cursing, he throws off the covers and leaps out of bed. To be honest, he probably should have had two fewer beers the night before, or maybe he should have gone home an hour earlier. But December 4th is always a hard night for Riza. After all, it is the anniversary of her father’s death.

Roy would have felt like a really terrible friend, leaving her alone before she was ready.

It’s something of a tradition, albeit a sad one, that he comes over and makes food for her on that night. Then they get outrageously drunk together while reminiscing about all the good times they had, back in college, when Roy lived at the Hawkeye’s mountain house for two summers, until Riza hits her breaking point and falls silent, leaning on Roy’s shoulder for an hour.

They do not talk about the fact that back then they were dating and everything was different. They also don’t talk about the fact that Berthold Hawkeye disowned his daughter for joining the military, or that he never spoke to her again, even when she was injured in the line of duty.

Really it’s kind of fucked up. There’s a very large part of Roy that hopes Riza will eventually find a way to let this go. But her father has only been gone for five years, so he supposes that one annual night of mourning is still acceptable.

Roy’s just lucky that this year he actually paced himself with the drinking, and he’s not really hung-over. He still feels kind of rough, though. He has just enough time to throw on his clothes and brush his teeth before he has to run out the door.

Thankfully the idea of seeing Ed at the gym is doing wonders for his sour mood, which is really kind of amazing. Thinking about Ed is like a ray of brilliant sunshine that brightens Roy’s world and lifts his mood no matter what else is going on. He can practically hear Maes’ words from the day at the pumpkin patch echoing in his head.

This is what he was talking about, Roy is sure of it. But it’s strange and this whole thing with Ed feels like a garment that he put on inside out and backwards and he can’t seem to straighten it out. Roy’s been in a lot of relationships. But no one ever made him feel like this. And the crazy thing is that this isn’t even a relationship. He and Ed are just… what? Friends? Two people who do a lot of yoga together?

“God, I am too old for this,” he mutters, pulling on his coat.

He feels like a teenager trying to figure out feelings for the first time. And it’s dumb. Because Roy will be thirty-three soon and that’s the sort of age when people are usually supposed to be settled down and married. Or at the very least sane and not falling for their yoga clients, and pining after them for months on end.

But surely there have to be exceptions to the rules when it comes to meeting someone like Ed.

Ed is vulnerability, wrapped in mystery, wrapped in layer upon layer of vicious defense mechanisms; all in the shape of the most attractive person that Roy has ever met.

With anyone else, Roy would have been scared off or repelled by the first sign of resistance. Riza had pointed it out, only partially in jest, but Roy has not historically been known for making a great deal of effort to break down people’s walls. If a potential partner was not interested right away then he would move on. Plenty of fish in the sea and all that.

Ed, with his prickly nature should have been the last person on earth that would be able to hold Roy’s attention. But against all the odds, he has. Ed has carved out a place inside of Roy’s heart, and he feels like he was always going to be sort of helpless in the face of the colossal force that is Edward Elric’s magnetic pull.

Roy was always going to fall for him.

That thought brings him up short and Roy actually has to take a moment to re-assess his universe after that bombshell revelation goes off in his head.

_I’m in love with Ed._

_I am in love. With Edward Elric._

The words sound right, like puzzle pieces clicking into place inside of his soul. He should be so scared right now. He’s still not even sure if he has a shot with Ed in the first place, but fear is the furthest thing from his mind. Roy feels like he could fly.

He understands what Maes has been trying to tell him that day in the pumpkin patch.

Ed is worth the risk.

Bracing himself against the cold, he opens his front door and steps outside into the early morning light.

 _Today_ , he thinks, _I’ll ask him out today_.

* * *

Hands shoved deep into his pockets for warmth, Ed stops, just outside of Alchemy Fitness, and looks up at the sign above the door.

“Transmute Your Body” reads the slogan below the blue and red gym logo.

He slept poorly last night, after seeing Roy and Hawkeye together at the grocery store, and exhaustion has left him feeling sick and shaky. He wants to see Roy, just to spend time in his presence; Ed wants that so badly that he doesn't even know what to do about it. But he doesn’t want to go inside. Not when he knows that Roy is firmly off limits.

Roy’s not just taken, he’s like… _super_ taken. And Ed should really have known better, shouldn’t he?

Hawkeye is a great match for a guy like Roy. She’s beautiful, smart, level headed and even tempered. She’s the kind of person who people like instinctively, because she exudes an aura of confidence that sets them at ease.

Basically she is the opposite of Ed in all things except, perhaps, hair color.

Ed gnaws his lower lip. It would be really easy to just turn away, to not go inside today. Yeah, he’d lose the money for his session, but that’s not such a big deal, really. It’s just money, after all, and Ed has never really cared _too_ much about shit like that.

If Ed so chooses, he could go to the library or his lab instead of yoga today. He’s finally starting to make some real headway with his dissertation and the extra two hours of work before this afternoon's meeting with the department chair would be really useful.

But that would be the coward's way of doing things, and Ed is not a coward. Also his back fucking aches and if he’s going to throw his money at Roy, he might as well get something out of it. So, squaring his shoulders, he pulls open the door of the gym and steps inside.

Sheska is behind the front desk again, engrossed in yet another book. She doesn’t even look up when Ed signs in. That’s fine with him though, the less people he has to talk to, the better. It just feels like one of those days where he has a pretty good chance of insulting someone by accident.

He walks back to the private yoga studio and goes inside. It’s empty, but that’s not unusual. Roy always turns up at exactly seven thirty, while Ed, who is categorically incapable of getting anywhere on time, is either way too early, or a little late. He toes off his shoes, strips off his bright red hoodie, and unrolls his mat.

Then he sits and waits.

Minutes tick by in silence and still Roy does not appear. Ed gets up and pulls his phone out of his bag. The clock on the lock screen reads 7:31.

Roy is late.

By one minute, yes, but this is _Roy._ He’s never late. You could set quantum clocks off of Roy as easily as the spin pattern of subatomic particles. He’s that precise.

Five more minutes go by and Ed’s irritatingly overactive imagination starts picturing all the horrible things that could be keeping Roy from showing up.

Roy’s sick. Roy’s hurt. Roy got hit by a bus crossing the street.

Hawkeye’s sick or hurt and Roy’s staying by her bedside to nurse her back to health.

Roy actually _did_ see Ed at Trader Joe’s and thinks he’s some kind of crazy stalker, so he’s entering the witness protection program.

 _Now you’re being fucking paranoid_ , he tells himself. Not that it really helps.

Ed is just about to go check with Sheska to see if she knows where Roy is, when the studio door bursts open and Roy stumbles in.

He’s out of breath, a bit disheveled, and far less composed than Ed has ever seen him; there are actually the barest hints of dark circles under his eyes, as if he too slept poorly last night.

“Sorry I’m late,” Roy says, leaning forwards and bracing his hands on his knees to catch his breath.

Ed stares at him. “What the hell happened to you?”

Roy, finally breathing more evenly, straightens and gives Ed a rueful smile.

“Would you believe me if I told you my alarm clock didn’t go off this morning?” he asks.

“Not in a million years,” Ed says, flatly. "You're the kind of person who probably sets like six alarms, each with a different sound, just to make sure that you actually wake up."

Roy snorts, setting his bag down and unbuttoning his jacket. “Well, okay. I actually just slept through the second one this morning and then nearly ran out of gas on the way over here. A very auspicious start to the day. I am sorry I’m late though. Are you ready to get started?”

“Yeah I guess,” says Ed, trying his best for nonchalance.

Roy unrolls his mat across from Ed and takes a starting sun salutation pose on it. Belatedly, Ed realizes that Roy is once again wearing the criminally tight pants that he had on the first time Ed saw him.

He swallows thickly and imitates Roy’s pose, without looking him in the eye.

 _This is going to be a long fucking lesson_ , Ed thinks and he curses his incredibly shit luck. It's like the universe is rubbing in his face exactly how awesome and _off limits_ Roy Mustang is.

It's just not fair. Like. In the grand scheme of things that are not fair in Ed's life – a scheme, which he might add, includes two missing limbs and a tragic backstory – the fact that there is a zero percent chance of him ever getting together with Roy rates pretty highly.

Honestly, he should have just skipped the class and gone to the library. Because Ed has this... this problem. Where, despite his deep hatred of talking about his feelings, he's not actually able to keep his emotions to himself when he feels something strongly. Al calls him an open book and says that it's a good thing because it means that he's not repressing stuff. Winry usually tells him that he ought to do something about how much he projects his feelings all over the place.

Which.

Okay.

 _That_ is fair. Because being around someone who's having a _feeling_ in your general direction so intensely that you can't ignore it is incredibly irritating. But the thing is, Ed really can't help it. This isn't something he can turn off. It's actually fucking incredible that Roy hasn't noticed Ed's _big-ass_ _crush_ yet, but that's probably because Roy is so happy with his perfect girlfriend that he's not even aware of the effect that he has on everyone around him.

Roy adjusts Ed's arm position in the third warrior pose that they've done that session (and has Ed ever mentioned how much he really hates that pose sequence? Because he does. The Automail leg is uncomfortable no matter whether he's standing on it or lifting it and the whole thing just blows. But, that is entirely beside the point.) And as he steps back, Roy gives Ed this _look_ and says, "I can't help but notice that you seem a bit down."

And nope, Ed's not going there. Not today. "I thought this was supposed to be a yoga lesson, not a fucking therapy session."

"I'm not trying to pry, Ed. I'm just concerned," Roy says in what is probably supposed to be a soothing voice.

Which is probably the worst thing that he could have said in this scenario because Ed really, _really_ hates people being concerned about him. It's just so god damn condescending and he’s already so on edge that he’s practically looking for a reason to get angry.

"I don't need your concern, Mustang," He snaps. "It's not like we're even friends. Just fucking leave me alone."

The second the words escape his mouth, Ed wishes he could reach out and shove them back in. Because this really sad, hurt expression flashes across Roy's face and then his eyes go cold and his lips draw into a tight line.

"I see," Roy says.

And Ed feels... about two inches tall, really. Small and shitty and like the worst person ever. He just knew he was going to put his foot in his mouth today. He wants to say something, anything to repair the damage.

He wants to say, _I see your face every time I close my eyes and I think of you every time I breathe and you don’t even know. You’ve climbed inside of my brain and I can’t make you leave. And it’s not fair because I want you to be happy and if that means not being with me then I guess I have to learn to live with it, even if it hurts like hell._ But words are hard. He doesn’t know _how_ to say these things. So he just snaps and lashes out and then goes quiet.

Ed wants to fix this but he doesn’t know how.

“I… didn’t mean it like that. Can we just finish the lesson?” he says after the horrible silence between them grows too unbearable, but Roy’s expression does not change.

Face still shuttered, Roy steps away from Ed and says, "Downward facing dog."

Ed lets his leg fall, faster and with less control than Roy normally allows him to get away with, but the instructor doesn't even comment.

He really didn't think that would hurt Roy. He didn't even know that Roy actually had any strong feelings about them being friends one way or another. As he stands there, bent double with all the blood in his body rushing towards his head, he feels like the worlds biggest asshole.

* * *

All of the air has mysteriously vanished from the studio, leaving nothing but horrible, sick tension behind.

Roy should absolutely know better than to keep pushing. He should cut his losses, finish this lesson, and then go beat the crap out of a punching bag or something until he feels better.

Ed has just stated pretty clearly that he wants nothing more from Roy than what he’s paying for. Roy should respect that. Hell, he should be glad. At least one of them understands how proper boundaries between people in a professional relationship should work.

Unfortunately, Roy has always been kind of terrible at letting things go.

After a few minutes of agonizing quiet, during which his heart and lungs feel as though they’re being tied into an ever-smaller knot, and his stomach fills with lead, Roy comes up to a tree pose, and says, “You really should talk about whatever has you this upset, you know. If not with me then with someone else.”

Ed who had just managed to get into his stance, wobbles and nearly falls, and he ends up having to put his raised leg down in order to catch himself.

“Why can’t you just drop it?” Ed asks, and he sounds  _miserable_. Distress radiates from him like a physical force and he won’t meet Roy’s eyes.

 _Back off_ , Roy’s brain warns, _back off before you make this worse_.

But he can’t. As much as Roy was hurt by Ed’s harsh words, it hasn’t changed the fact that he cares about him and the idea of Ed being so distressed is deeply upsetting to Roy. He wants to know what’s wrong so that he can help fix it.

“Because I care about your wellbeing, Edward. Physical _and_ mental,” Roy says, in a resigned tone.

Ed’s golden eyes finally meet Roy’s again, his shoulders are drawn taut and his fists are clenched. The sadness still lingers, but it has been mostly drowned out by aggravation.

“This isn’t something you can fucking help with, Mustang. Stop sticking your nose where it isn’t wanted and do what I’m paying you to do: teach yoga,” he says through gritted teeth.

Roy lets himself come out of his stance. They’re probably not going to get much more yoga done today anyway. Ed is wound so tight that he’s about to shake apart and Roy... well his temper is not fairing much better. Bad enough that Ed apparently does not reciprocate Roy’s feelings in the slightest, it would seem that at this moment he’s barely even tolerating Roy’s presence.

“I don’t think that this lesson is doing either of us any good at this juncture. If you would like to reschedule for later this week, I can see if I can work you in. Otherwise there are plenty of other qualified trainers who would be more than happy to take you on as a client,” Roy says, staring Ed down while the hot coil of anger in his belly burns ever brighter. Really, he would love to know what he did, to deserve this today.

Ed gapes at him, turning white and then red with anger and shock. “So you’re what? Dumping me as a client, now?”

And really, that’s about the end of the line as far as Roy’s temper goes. He can tolerate a lot; a ridiculous amount of yoga is great for anger management.

But even Roy has his limits, and one of his is definitely when people start putting words in his mouth. He’s trying not to rise to Ed’s baiting, but Ed is making it _so very hard_.

“Is that not what you want?” Roy snaps, “You were pretty unambiguous a few minutes ago about the fact that you’re only suffering my company for the sake of yoga lessons, so I was simply giving you options.”

“That’s not what I fucking said _or_ what I meant!” Ed says, Automail hand clenching reflexively. He takes a step in Roy’s direction and he’s close enough now that Roy can see the strain in the tendons of his neck. “I just want you to drop the interrogation and finish this lesson!”

“Well Edward,” Roy says, crossing his arms, “you know my policy on doing yoga while you’re in a state like this, so that’s not going to happen. And I really don’t think we should even be in the same room until you’ve calmed down.”

That statement is like throwing water on a grease fire.

“I am not a goddamn child, you bastard, so stop fucking talking to me like I am!” Ed snarls, eyes burning dangerously like twin suns on the verge of going supernova.

“Then stop acting like one!” Roy very nearly shouts back. he doesn't know if it’s Ed’s words that are making him this angry or if it’s just that he’s furious that he does not know what it is that they’re really fighting about. Most likely it’s a combination of both.

What happens next goes almost too fast for Roy’s brain to comprehend. There is a brief second of hesitation, where Roy actually thinks that Ed might haul off and deck him – which is no laughing matter because the Automail fist is not messing around and a punch from that would do some serious damage.

But instead of decking him, Ed closes the distance between them, reaches out and pulls Roy’s face down to meet his, and kisses Roy with such sudden ferocity that his brain goes completely blank.

This is not a gentle kiss. There is no softness, no romance here. This kiss is all teeth and bite and anger. It’s hot enough to scorch Roy to the core but leaves him utterly frozen, paralyzed by the wrongness of the whole situation. Ed’s tongue presses along the seam of Roy’s lips, demanding entry, but Roy is too stunned to move.

And then just as quickly as the kiss began, it ends. Ed tears his lips away from Roy’s and stumbles back. His golden eyes are wide with panic. They are both breathing hard. Ed gives Roy this look that is all hungry desperation and _want_ , touches a hand to his lips, and then shuts his eyes.

“Ed…” Roy begins, taking a hesitant half-step towards the blond.

Ed turns on his heel and bolts. He pauses long enough to grab his bag and his shoes but he’s made it out of the studio, slamming the door behind him, before Roy can so much as take another step.

Roy scrubs at his face with his hands. He kind of feels like crying, and also still a little like beating the shit out of something. But mostly he just feels like laughing, because isn’t this just perfect?

He finally got to kiss Ed and everything was wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know if you're enjoying the fic (or want to hit me)! Comments and kudos are greatly appreciated and the next installment will be out soon! XOXO


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, GUYS this story has FANART!! The absolutely amazing [gettibucket](http://gettibucket.tumblr.com/) drew two gorgeous pieces of [art](http://gettibucket.tumblr.com/post/130627694511/i-was-reading-the-yoga-au-and-i-wanted-to-work-on) for this story and everyone should go look at them immediately because they're incredible! Thank you guys so much for your continued support of this fic, it means the world to me. XOXO
> 
> This might be the time to mention that I have a [tumblr](http://commandercait.tumblr.com/) and if you want to come yell at me or ask questions you are more than welcome!
> 
> An as always, this story would not exist without the assistance of my talented and patient beta edroys!

Ed is not fucking hiding. Really. He isn’t. He’s just not interested in seeing or speaking to anyone else under any circumstances, and he’s only left his room to go to class and the lab. And he definitely hasn’t gone to yoga.

 _But that_ , he tells himself, _is by choice._

“Brother, how long are you planning on sulking in there?” Al asks, voice muffled through the closed door.

"I'm not sulking, I'm trying to get some fucking work done," Ed snaps, glaring as if his brother has x-ray vision and can see through walls.

"I know you're not working, I haven't heard enough cursing and pacing for that. Come on, just talk to me," Al pleads, and there's a sliding sound followed by a thump that lets Ed know that his brother has sat down outside.

Ed groans and pushes his chair away from his desk. It's not like he was really getting much done anyway – how could he, when all he can think about is what an enormous mess he's made of his whole life? But he's going to get even less done with Al lurking outside trying to be supportive or whatever.

Which is so irritating, because he’s just doing what any good brother would do, so Ed can’t even really be mad.

"Al… I don't want to talk about it, okay?" he says, getting to his feet and crossing to the other side of the room. Ed stands in front of the door, staring blankly at it.

He feels kind of hollow inside, like the hot flash fire of anger, desire, and tortured longing that has long since passed has left him empty and cold in its wake.

What had possessed him to kiss Roy? Why did any part of him ever think that was a good idea? Of course Roy had frozen in shock; he had surely been horrified and repulsed by that grotesque violation of his personal space. Roy must be disgusted. How could he not have been?

On the other side of the door, Al sighs. "The last time you did this was after you and Ling broke up. I know you don't want to talk, but you're scaring me."

Ed presses his forehead against the solid wood of his bedroom door.

Fucking Al and his masterful guilt trips. He should consider a career as a travel agent, if this whole biochemistry thing falls through.

Scowling, he opens the door, then turns and walks away, going to sit on his bed and letting his brother wander in at his own pace.

Al perches on the desk chair, and looks at Ed with big, worried eyes. “What happened, Ed?”

Ed flops back on his bed, staring at the ceiling. He's quiet for a long time and Al lets him be, waiting patiently.

“I fucked up,” he says at last. “I fucked up and I don’t think I can fix it.”

“Fucked up how?” Al asks. “Is this a science thing or a personal thing?”

And Ed feels even shittier because he’s been so wrapped up in trying to keep all of this Roy stuff to himself, not letting any of it slip to anyone, that he’s accidentally shut his brother out of his life in a way that he’s never done before.

“It’s a personal thing. A Roy thing, actually,” Ed tells Al, and just like that the whole goddamned story comes spilling out.

“I have fucking _feelings_ for him, Al. I know you’ve all been laughing at me about it for weeks but seriously, this shit doesn’t come as easy for me as it does for the rest of the universe, okay. I thought that I just enjoyed looking at him and that was it, because he’s so irritating and he’s such a bastard in lessons. I didn’t even realize what was happening until it was too fucking late. And I’m shit out of luck anyway because not only is he not available but my useless brain decided that the best way to end an argument was to kiss him.”

Ed laughs bleakly when he finishes talking and covers his face with his hands.

Al doesn’t say anything for a long moment, and then Ed hears the squeak of the desk chair, the sound of footsteps, and feels the bed sink under his brother’s weight.

“What happened after that?” Al asks, gently.

“… I ran away like a fucking coward,” Ed mutters. “He froze up and got all horrified when I kissed him. Though who could really blame him? You’re not supposed to just kiss people without asking. Even I know that one. I was out of line and I bet he hates me now. “

“Oh Ed,” Al says with a sigh, “that _is_ a mess.”

“Thanks,” Ed grumbles.

“But I doubt that he hates you. Has he tried to contact you at all?”

Ed shrugs, which is much harder to do lying down than standing up. “Dunno. I haven’t exactly been checking my phone eagerly for the last few days.”

“You never check your phone eagerly, brother. I’ve never met anyone who was harder to get a hold of than you are.” Al snorts.

Propping himself up on his elbows to glare at his brother, Ed says, “Did you just come in here to take shots at me while I’m down?”

Al holds up his hands in a placating gesture. “Sorry, force of habit. But maybe you should check and see if he’s tried to reach you. Letting this fester is only going to make it worse.”

Groaning, Ed falls back on the bed. “I fucking know that. I guess there’s a part of me that keeps hoping that if I ignore this long enough it will just… I dunno, go away?”

“If only life were so simple,” Says Al, patting Ed’s flesh knee, “but you’re smart enough to know that’s a dumb idea that will never work. Where is your phone? If you want, I’ll sit with you while you check for messages.”

God he does not want to look at his phone. Ed’s not sure which would be worse: awful messages or none at all.

But after a long moment, he says, “Sure, fine, whatever. Just. Don’t say anything, okay?”

He feels like kind of a weenie that he needs Al there in order to check his messages, but it’s nice to feel like he actually has someone on his side. Ed sits up again and leans over the side of his bed. Grabbing the handle of his duffle bag and he drags it over, and then reaches inside, feeling around for the smooth plastic of his phone. With great reluctance, he draws it out, and the black-mirror screen stares back at him, reflecting his unhappy face. Almost sick with trepidation, he clicks the unlock button and the device comes to life.

There are two messages, both from Roy, both from the day after the kiss.

Suddenly panicking for real, Ed almost throws the phone across the room without reading either. He is certain that they are not words he wants to see, but Al is there, a solid and steady presence at his feet, so he forces himself to type in his passcode and unlock the phone.

A finger tap on his message app and another on Roy’s name and then he’s staring at the two blue speech bubbles.

 _“We need to talk.”_ reads the first message.

 _“Can we meet somewhere?”_ reads the second.

Ed drops the phone on the comforter and scoots away from it as if it tried to bite him.

“Al, I can’t fucking do this.”

Al grabs the phone, privacy be damned, and reads the messages. “Ed, he wants to meet! That’s not necessarily a bad thing.”

“Stop that!” Ed says, snatching his phone back from his nosey little brother. “He probably wants to tell me in person that I’m banned from the gym or that he’s suing me for sexual harassment or – or – I just can’t do this. This is why feelings are a bad idea!“

“Edward Elric, calm down right now,” Al says firmly. “You are getting worked up when you don’t even have all the facts and that’s not like you. This is just like when you’re working on a new experiment. When you don’t know the answer, you don’t just guess wildly, you get more data. So stop being dumb and text Roy back!”

Ed gapes at his brother. Al’s golden eyes are narrowed and he has his arms crossed over his chest.

“Did you just… call me dumb?” he manages after a minute.

“If the shoe fits…” Al says.

Ed looks down at the phone in his hands. At the messages on his phone. His heart races.

“Okay,” he says, taking a steadying breath. “You’re an asshole, but fine.”

Almost painfully slowly, Ed types a reply.

_“Where and when?”_

He hits send, while Al cranes his neck to read what Ed wrote.

“Ugh, brother, you don’t have an ounce of finesse in your entire body, do you?” Al says, appalled.

Ed opens his mouth to say “what did I tell you about talking”, but the phone in his hand buzzes and his eyes snap down to read Roy’s response.

_“Are you free now? And why don’t we meet by the lion statue in Bradley Park?”_

Ed has to forcibly keep himself from hyperventilating.

“He wants to meet now. Now, Al!”

With a disgusted sound, Al steals the phone again and types a response, hitting send before Ed has a chance to protest.

“You’re going in forty five minutes. Make yourself presentable and then go talk to him. I will drive you myself if I have to, but you cannot drag this out any longer.”

“Forty five– What? Al, why?” Ed says, feeling massively betrayed.

Al smiles beatifically at him. “Because I love you. Now get moving, unless you want to go looking like that,” He says, gesturing at Ed’s rumpled clothing and untidy hair.

* * *

Bradley Park is an easy ten-minute walk from Alchemy Fitness. Roy does not know exactly where Ed lives, but nothing in the University District is very far from anything else so he hopes that it will be a convenient spot for Ed too. Plus, it’s nice, neutral ground for everyone involved.

The conversation that they need to have is not the kind that would be wise to have in Roy’s place of business nor is it well suited for a crowded spot like a café or bar. At this time of year, with the chilly, early December winds gusting steadily, the park will be nearly empty, which is ideal for their purposes.

Ed had said that he needed some times to get there, but Roy throws on his coat and jogs to the park pretty much the second he gets Ed’s text.

He just can’t sit still any longer.

The last week has been miserable and the radio silence from Ed has made him feel like someone is holding his heart and lungs in a vice grip and refusing to let go.

He has checked his phone so many times that his finger is actually starting to cramp from hitting the unlock button. Riza had to take his phone away at one point because they were trying to have a meeting about hiring a new trainer and he couldn’t stop looking at it.

Basically Roy has been a total mess and he’s so glad that Ed is at least willing to talk.

Cold air burning in his lungs, Roy jogs up to the massive lion statue that stands in the circular paved area, right at the center of the park and looks around. Predictably he is the only person there. It’s almost four in the afternoon and the shadows have just begun to lengthen, the early evening sunlight taking on a faintly golden cast.

 _Ed’s hair will look beautiful in this light_ , he thinks.

Brushing away some fallen leaves, Roy takes a seat on one of the benches. He fights the urge to pull his phone out, just to check and see if Ed has said anything new. He doesn't even last a full minute before he loses that fight.

There are no new messages, of course, and he feels a thrum of anxiety at the thought that maybe Ed is not going to show after all.

But a few minutes later, he hears the crunch of boots on dead leaves and he looks up to see Ed walking into view. The shorter man is wearing black jeans and a bright red hoodie, with a black Flamel design emblazoned on the front. His breath escapes in regular puffs of white vapor that vanish into the freezing air.

As predicted, Ed’s hair looks beautiful. _Ed_ looks beautiful, and Roy has never been happier to see anyone in his entire life. It feels like it has been three years, instead of a week since they last saw one another.

His eyes roam over the blond, picking up on body language and facial expressions, trying to formulate the best way to begin this conversation. Even from a distance, Roy can see that Ed’s shoulders are hunched defensively and his trademark scowl is firmly in place. He is either very angry or very afraid to be here.

Roy’s heart clenches as he gets to his feet.

“I’m glad you came,” he says, when Ed is close enough to hear him without Roy needing to raise his voice. “I was afraid that you wouldn’t.”

Ed stops maybe five feet away, and crosses his arms, not meeting Roy’s eyes.

“I didn’t want to. Al bullied me.” He says, irritated, “What do you want, Mustang? A fucking apology?”

Roy blinks. He had certainly known that a hostile Ed was a possibility, given his temperament, but that doesn’t lessen the sting of the blond’s words.

“Perhaps, but only for ignoring my texts for a week. That was not a very nice thing to do, you know.”

Ed does meet his eyes then, but only to glare at him. “Yeah, well. I’m not a nice person, figured you of all people would know that by now. Is this why you called me out here?”

Of course Ed is going to make this difficult. He would never be so kind as to let this conversation go smoothly.

“Ed, we need to talk about that kiss,” says Roy.

Ed flinches like he’s been slapped. “It was a fucking mistake. If you’re feeling guilty about it maybe you should go talk to Hawkeye. But it was a mistake and it will _never_ happen again.”

“What does Riza have to do with anything?” Roy asks, brows furrowing in confusion.

Ed laughs hollowly. “What does – are you kidding me? She’s your fucking _girlfriend_ , right? That’s what this is about! You feel all shitty and guilty because of that kiss and you want me to absolve you of your sins or whatever. Well, you’re in luck; that kiss was all me. Go be happy and guilt-free.”

There is a rushing in Roy’s ears like he’s in a wind tunnel, but for once the air around them is very still. Like the sun coming over the horizon, understanding begins to dawn on Roy. It’s so perfect; so totally, hilariously ironic that it actually makes him laugh.

“Ed, Edward,” he says, trying to pull himself together, “Riza and I aren’t a couple; we haven’t been for years. She’s just a very good friend and my business partner.”

“You don’t need to lie about it! I fucking saw you two together in Trader Joe’s. You don’t look at each other like friends. And you sure as hell don’t touch each other like friends,” Ed snarls.

Roy frowns. He remembers that night, of course, but he can’t remember doing anything out of the ordinary with Riza… except, oh…

Riza had come up to him, shopping basket in hand while he was looking at avocados. She had told him, as she always did, that he didn’t actually need to stay with her that night, and he had scoffed quietly.

“Don’t be ridiculous. You know I’m not going anywhere,” he’d replied before pressing his lips to her forehead in a chaste kiss. She’d smiled softly, relief flickering briefly in her brown eyes.

“That night was the anniversary of her father’s death,” Roy says, frowning.“A long time ago we tried being together and it didn’t work. We have no intention of ever trying it again. We are, however, still each other’s closest friends. She was having a hard time so I comforted her. But come on Ed, I kissed her forehead, it’s not like we were making out in the produce section.”

Ed stares hard at him, as though his brain is trying to process the information. “So… you’re not with her.”

“Not even remotely,” Roy says, hoping that they are finally approaching some form of understanding.

But his words seem to have the opposite of the desired effect on Ed. The blond man takes a step back, almost seeming to fold inwards as he does so. It’s as if he is trying to shrink himself into nothing so that the blow, when it comes will hit as small an area as possible.

“Then…” he says, brows drawing together, before his face falls completely, “when I kissed you… you didn’t freeze because of her… it was because of me.”

And Roy is really done with this whole failure to communicate thing.

“Oh my god,” Roy says and strides forwards, closing the distance between them with sure steps. He reaches out and takes Ed’s face in his hands, looking deep into the sun-bright gold of his eyes and reveling in the warmth of Ed’s skin against his frozen fingers.

“For the smartest person who has ever lived, sometimes you are incredibly obtuse,” Roy says, but his tone is gentle. “I froze because you surprised me. That tends to happen when you go from fighting with someone to kissing them. I am not with Riza. Nor do I want to _be_ with Riza. Or anyone else, for that matter.”

Ed’s breath is coming in short pants and there is a look of fragile hope that is starting to break through his despair. He is staring into Roy’s eyes, standing still as the massive lion statue that rears up into the air behind them. Underneath his thumbs, Roy can feel the thundering pulse of Ed’s heartbeat in his neck.

“You…” says Ed, the he falters and says it again, seemingly unable to get past the word.

“Edward Elric,” Roy says, bending his face until their noses are just brushing, “I am ridiculously crazy about you.”

Then Roy closes the rest of the distance and presses his lips to Ed’s own.

For one horrible, eternal second, Ed’s entire body tenses and Roy wonders if maybe he has totally misread the situation _again_. But then the tension drains completely out of Ed’s body and he comes alive under Roy’s hands and mouth.

Kissing Ed – really kissing Ed, not the half attack/half panic attack thing that happened in the studio – is magical. Roy feels like he’s drowning and flying and falling all at once and his heart is beating so hard that he’s pretty sure it’s going to explode.

Ed’s hands slide up Roy’s back and pull him closer. His lips part for Roy’s questing tongue and he meets the kiss with equal passion. Roy nips at Ed’s bottom lip, eliciting a rumbling growl of appreciation before he finds his own tongue being sucked into Ed’s mouth.

He gets kind of lost in the delightful sensation of just touching Ed and being touched by him in turn. If breathing wasn't an issue, Roy is pretty sure that they could have continued in that fashion into eternity. But the need for oxygen does eventually assert itself and the two pull away from each other, reluctantly and breathing hard.

There is a pink tinge hanging about Ed’s cheeks, partially from the cold and partially from their earlier activities. And maybe also from embarrassment because this is Ed, and for all his ferocity, he is _very_ easy to embarrass.

With a great deal of tenderness, Roy runs a thumb over Ed’s cheek and the younger man’s eyes flutter half closed in delight.

“You're not just screwing around? You really mean that?” Ed asks once his breathing is slightly more under control.

Roy is tempted to be flippant about it and make a joke, but he gets the sense that this is not the time. Perhaps once they are further along, once Ed knows that Roy is serious about this, serious about _him_ , Roy can joke and tease. But now is the time for clarity and complete honesty.

“I really, _really_ do,” he says, smiling and brushing his thumb back and forth over Ed’s cheekbone.

Ed’s flush intensifies, but there’s a smile beginning to spread across his face.

“That’s cool,” he says, and Roy just laughs, feeling lighter than he has in years.

* * *

They’re standing in the middle of the empty, freezing park while the sun goes down and the last of the brightly colored fall leaves blow through the air all around them.

Ed feels like he’s fallen into one of Al’s dumb romcom movies. Ed doesn’t even _care_ that he feels like he’s fallen into one of Al’s dumb romcom movies.

_Roy likes me._

_Roy_ likes _me!_

His brain keeps shouting it over and over again and his face is wearing what has to be the stupidest smile in the universe. He can’t help it.

There’s definitely part of him that’s cringing big time over both his misreading of the situation and his reaction to it, but that part is nearly smothered by the overwhelming relief that he didn’t mess this up beyond repair, and that there's even a _this_ to mess up, because  _Roy really wants him too_.

They still haven’t really separated, standing so close that they’re just breathing in each other’s faces and looking into each other’s eyes. It’s probably vomit worthy from the outside.

Ed had imagined that kissing Roy would be wonderful; when he’s not being a total weirdo, Roy is actually the smoothest guy Ed’s ever met. And that, coupled with his good looks, has probably given him ample opportunity to practice kissing.

Which shows. Roy kissed him masterfully, mapping the inside of Ed’s mouth, his tongue, his teeth, before nibbling his lips until Ed’s head spun.

It was an A+ kiss in Ed’s book.

“What are you smiling about?” Roy asks and his voice has that deep, gravelly timber that Ed first noticed in the hot yoga class and has been fantasizing about ever since. It makes him shiver.

Roy misinterprets the shudder as a reaction to the cold and tugs Ed even closer, wrapping him tighter in his arms. Ed doesn’t bother to correct his assumption.

“I’m just happy, I guess. I sorta spent the last three months thinking you were like… so far out of my fucking league that this wasn’t even possible.”

That makes Roy frown and he pulls away a little. “Ed, have you ever even seen yourself?”

Ed gives a half shrug and looks away. “People tend to lose interest when they see the Automail. Or I open my mouth. I’m actually still waiting for you to lose interest because of that.”

“Please,” says Roy, making a face, “if I was going to decide this wasn’t worth it based on your personality, that would have happened ages ago. As it is, I rather enjoy how… hmm… spirited our discussions get sometimes. And the rest of the time you’re a lot better company than you give yourself credit for.”

“Good save, Mustang,” Ed mutters, but he’s not feeling particularly insulted. He knows better than anyone that talking with him can be like walking through a minefield.

Then Roy grins at him. “And honestly, you did not see the way half of the class was looking at you that first day, when you went into a downward facing dog.”

Ed goes crimson and shoves Roy away, only to regret that a moment later when a stiff breeze blows icy daggers through his hoodie and into his skin. The cold makes the Automail ports ache.

“Oh cut it out, asshole,” he says then he shivers again. “Hey, here’s an idea, why don’t we go somewhere not freezing?”

Another gust of wind blows through the park and he shivers more violently.

“Ah, of course,” Roy says. “How does Nina’s sound?”

“Great, as long as we go there right now, straight away, with no delays,” says Ed, whose teeth have begun to chatter a bit.

With a smile, Roy holds his arm up and out. “Delightful. And come here so you don’t freeze on the walk.”

Embarrassed for a moment by the idea of needing to be taken care of, Ed considers refusing, but the cold is biting and he remembers from the Halloween party how nice it had felt to fit snugly up against the warmth of Roy’s body, so he relents.

He slips under Roy’s shoulder and wraps his arm around the taller man’s waist. It’s a perfect fit, as if that space as made exactly to accommodate him. Ed likes that thought a lot.

“Shall we?” Roy asks.

“We’d fuckin’ better, before I get hypothermia and die,” replies Ed.

Huffing out a laugh, Roy says, “If you get too cold I'll just have to warm you up with my body heat. How unfortunate.”

Ed, who had finally been getting his flaming face under control is back to blushing at full throttle once more.

“I should have known that you’d be a massive pervert underneath all the hippy bullshit,” Ed grumbles, but he doesn’t pull away.

“Sorry,” Roy says, growing serious, “I’m not trying to make you uncomfortable. If I ever cross a line, please do tell me.”

Something flutters in Ed’s chest. He’s definitely a guy with boundaries. Big ones. Some of them look less like boundaries and more like the Berlin wall. And that was always an issue with Ling.

Ling had wanted all of Ed, wholly and completely, and he hadn’t wanted to wait for Ed to give himself over piece by piece. Ed has let Roy past a lot of his barriers already; some on purpose, some by mistake, and most without even realizing that it was happening.

Whether Roy knows it or not, he already holds a large chunk of Ed’s heart in his hands. If he so chooses, Roy can probably destroy Ed emotionally without much effort.

But it’s too soon to say things like that. This is all too new and too fresh. Hell, they haven’t even been on a date yet. They just fought in a park and then made out; not exactly an epic relationship history.

However, the knowledge that Roy is conscious and will to be respectful of his boundaries has gone a long way towards making Ed feel, more than ever before, like Roy is someone who he would not mind letting see some of the stuff on the other side of the walls.

Not yet. But soon.

Ed tucks himself into Roy’s side even tighter.

“Thanks, and you know… same thing goes for you, or whatever.”

Roy presses a kiss onto the top of Ed’s head.

It’s sappy and sweet. Ed likes the way it makes him tingle all the way down to his five remaining toes, but if anyone ever asks, he will deny it.

They walk as quickly as they can manage, given their difference in stride length and the fact that they are basically participating in a four-legged race. Thankfully, Nina’s is quite close, and before long, they are stepping through the bright orange door, into the warm, coffee scented haven.

The instant that they’re in the company of other people, Ed goes tense. Roy, seeming to understand what’s bothering Ed even without his having to say anything, lets his arm fall away from Ed’s shoulders.

“Sorry,” Ed says, “PDA is… uh… a little too much for me.”

Roy gently nudges Ed with his hip. “You don’t have to apologize. I happen to enjoy it, but I’m more interested in not making you feel uncomfortable.”

“Yeah well,” Ed says, blushing _yet again_ and god, he’s going to have to work on that otherwise he’s going to spend all his time around Roy looking like a cherry tomato, “Give me a bit to get used to this, okay? Then maybe we can revisit the whole thing.”

“Of course. If you want to snag us a table, I’ll get the drinks,” Roy says, smiling like Ed is the best thing since vegan ice cream.

Ed scowls. “You bought all the booze on Halloween and we’re here right now because I jumped to conclusions and was being an ass. Coffee’s on me.”

Roy gives Ed this look like he thinks Ed is being silly. “I was under the impression that we’re here because we’re done fighting about nothing. How about this; you can get the drinks this time and I will get dinner when I take you out on a real date.”

_Smooth fucking bastard._

Roy is like a weasel with words. He always knows the right thing to say and it’s really not even fair. Ed wants to argue about how that is even _less_ fair, but he is getting caught on the whole “going on a real date with Roy thing” and he's having a hard time making words happen at all.

“Okay. Yeah. That works,” Ed says at last. "So what are you drinking?"

"Coffee, black. Please," Roy says and Ed hides a smirk because Roy is very predictable.

They stand in line, not quite touching, until they get to the counter. The hipster girl at the register has brown hair with bright pink bangs. She also has a labret piercing and a wicked cool tattoo sleeve with a sun motif on her left forearm.

“Welcome to Nina’s! What can I get you today?” hipster girl asks.

“He’ll have a black coffee and I want an almond milk latte with like… twice the amount of almond milk as actual coffee. Both for here.” Says Ed, snatching his wallet out of his back pocket and paying for the drinks before Roy can get any funny ideas. Ed doesn’t trust him not to try to pay for the drinks anyway because he’s being _chivalrous_ or something stupid.

Drink orders placed, Roy lingers by the counter, waiting for their names to be called, and he sends Ed off to find a table.

The café is fairly crowded at this hour. Students studying for finals make up a good portion of the patrons, but the general population of Central is also making a decent showing. There’s a small table near the fireplace that’s open and Ed slides into the seat closest to the fire, stretching his hands towards the flames in a desperate attempt to thaw himself out.

That’s how Roy finds him a few minutes later, when he comes over to the table, bearing a couple of Nina’s massive coffee mugs, one in each hand.

“If I had known how chilly it would actually be, I might have suggested meeting somewhere less… outside,” says Roy, setting the coffees on the table.

Gratefully, Ed reaches out and takes hold of his cup. The cup is a little too hot to touch comfortably, but Ed doesn't care. The heat seeps into his flesh fingers, bringing them back to life, while the fingers of his Automail hand click gently against the porcelain.

“Yeah, well, the park served its purpose well enough. And if you were going for the most dramatic setting available I think you succeeded on that front.”

Roy smirks, sitting down in the other chair. “It was not intentional but I have to admit that it was an added bonus.”

He clinks their mugs together and then takes a drink, closing his eyes to savor his coffee. The column of his throat moves when he swallows and Ed watches him.

 _I can touch him. I can touch Roy. I could reach out and touch him right now and that would be okay. This is real. This is happening,_ Ed thinks.

Setting his mug back on the table, Roy looks Ed over speculatively.

“What is that grin for?” he asks.

“Nothing that you need to know about, you bastard,” says Ed, into his coffee cup.

A moment of quiet passes between them and the sounds of the coffee shop fill the air. The clink of cutlery on plates and mugs, the soft strains of Christmas music that has already begun to play on every radio station, and the quiet conversations of other patrons blend into a soothing soundtrack.

A few tables over, Ed catches sight of a dark haired man pulling out a chair for a blonde woman and a thought occurs to him.

“Hey Roy,” he says, looking back at his companion, “can I ask you something?”

“Certainly,” Roy says, setting his coffee cup down.

“What’s the story with you and Hawkeye?” Ed fidgets a little in his seat. He’s not really _jealous_ any more, not like he was when he had convinced himself that they were the perfect happy couple, but there’s history there that he doesn’t know about and the not knowing makes him itchy.

Roy’s brows furrow. “Why do you ask?”

Ed gives him a half shrug. “I’m just curious. I’m not really on speaking terms with any of my ex’s so I guess it’s just strange to me that you two stayed so close.

“It's a fairly simple story, to be honest. Riza and I met in college,” he says. “We were inseparable from day one and I suppose that it was inevitable that we would at least try dating each other at some point. We got together in the spring of our freshman year, but the relationship only lasted until the following winter. As it turned out, we made excellent friends but we were a terrible couple. Somehow, the breakup didn’t ruin our friendship, though it was a bit touch and go for a while.”

He pauses and looks down at his coffee, a small frown creasing his brow and flattening his lips into a line. “I think the thing that has really held us together this long is the fact that she and I served together in Afghanistan.”

“Wanna talk about it, or should I start spouting off about M-Theory to make this less awkward?” Ed asks, as he reaches out, hesitantly, and touches Roy’s hand with his own. It’s more of a tap than a real caress, but it makes Roy look up and smile at him, all signs of strain and lingering sadness vanished from his face.

Roy gives him a real, blinding smile. “Edward, you could _never_ make me feel awkward.”

Arching his eyebrow at Roy, Ed lifts his coffee cup in both hands and brings it to his lips. “Yeah? What if we talk about your old facebook photo then?”

“Who's playing dirty now?” the yoga instructor says archly.

Ed snickers into his coffee. “I told you; I’m never letting you live that one down.”

Roy looks to the ceiling as if hoping for divine assistance.

 _Gotcha_ , Ed thinks.

Just before they’re about to part ways for the evening, Roy says, “I just want you to know that I didn’t bill you for your missed yoga sessions.”

Ed starts. Somehow, in the chaos of the last week, he had actually forgotten about that aspect of this whole relationship. He’s still technically Roy’s client. And that’s _really_ weird.

He rubs at the back of his neck, awkwardly.

“I guess I need to find a new yoga instructor, huh?” Ed says, a little surprised by how deeply he dislikes that idea.

The thunderous frown that crosses Roy’s face seems to indicate a similar displeasure though. “Don’t you even think about it.”

“But it’s fucking _weird_ , Roy. I can’t be paying you for stuff and also dating you. That’s like… ugh… I dunno prostitution or something,” Ed says.

Roy rolls his eyes so hard that Ed actually wonders if it hurt.

“I own the gym where you take yoga, remember? Just keep coming but don’t worry about paying. I’m not exactly hurting for money,” says Roy. “Besides it’s certainly more pleasure than business to do yoga with you.”

The surge of relief that Ed gets to keep doing yoga with Roy is massive. He’s been mostly pain free since they started working together and he really doesn’t want to give that up. Nor does he want to work with anyone else.

Roy and yoga are inextricably linked in Ed’s mind and they have been since that very first lesson. Thinking of Roy calls up the warm wood of the studio floor, the press of strong hands against his body, and the feeling of deep relaxation that comes with reaching the final savasana pose.

 _And really tight pants_ , Ed’s brain adds helpfully. All of those things are part of the whole yoga experience for Ed and he doesn’t want that to change.

Behind them, the door of Nina's clangs open as a couple of patrons stumble out into the cold and dark of the early December night. Up above, the few stars that are actually visible despite the light pollution from the city are twinkling.

Ed looks at Roy, really looks at him, until he’s satisfied that Roy is one hundred percent serious.

“Good,” he says, “because I tried a lot of other yoga instructors and you’re the only one that didn’t completely suck.”

“Well then,” says Roy, “I guess we’re stuck with each other, because I’ve never met anyone who needs yoga as badly as you do.”

“Shut up,” Ed tells him, before leaning in to kiss Roy soundly.

* * *

Riza accosts him the second he comes through the office door the next morning.

“I heard you and Edward worked things out,” she says, sitting on her yoga ball chair with both her arms and legs crossed.

 _Where_ does she get her information?

He blinks owlishly at her before saying, “How do you even know that?”

Riza gives him a look that says she’s not particularly impressed with his intelligence. “My client, Winry. She texted me about this last night. What I would like to know is why I learned about _your_ relationship from her and not from you?”

Roy drops into his office chair and puts his face in his hands. “I had planned on telling you this morning. I was unaware that your spy network would be operating at full speed even in the middle of the night.”

Honestly, he’s not _really_ surprised. Riza has always been the sort of person who just knows everything about everyone all the time. It would be creepy if it weren’t so damn useful.

“Well, I suppose that's fair. And Roy,” she says, and he lifts his face from his hands.

“Yes?”

“I am very glad that everything worked out.” Riza gives him a small smile and Roy is filled with such sudden fondness for her.

He had been thinking that he might tell her about the role that she had accidentally played in the argument, but he decides the better of it. They might be well and truly over each other, but Roy imagines that Riza will still feel some discomfort at being the cause of strife between Roy and the man he has feelings for.

“Me too,” Roy says, grinning like the besotted idiot he is in response.

The rest of the day passes in a haze of paperwork, personal training sessions, and every single trainer in the gym either giving Roy a knowing glance, or a thumbs up, or _something_.

 _How do they all know?_ he wonders.

The thing is, Riza might know everything, but people have to be on a certain special level of friendship with her before she’ll tell, and none of the people in their joint employ are there. It just wouldn’t be professional.

And it’s not like Roy has made a habit of going around and blabbing to everyone in sight about his feelings for Ed.

The truth comes out just after closing time, when he’s toweling off in the locker room and Breda walks in.

The second their eyes meet, a wide grin stretches across the stocky trainer’s face.

“Hey Mustang! How was the hot date last night?” Breda asks.

“Heymans Breda, you are a dead man,” Roy growls, balling up his towel and throwing it as hard as he can towards Breda’s torso. The man ducks, but he’s not fast enough so the towel catches him in the face instead of the chest.

“Oh that’s gross!” he says, sounding wounded.

“Too bad,” Roy replies, still glaring at the shorter man. “Why have you been telling everyone about my personal business? And how did you even find out in the first place?”

Breda snorts. “I saw you and Elric at Nina’s last night when I was getting my cheat day donut. But, no offense, it wasn’t exactly a surprise. Everyone here has been talking about you two since September.”

Roy’s jaw drops open a little before he regains control of his facial muscles and it clicks shut. “What? Why? We were only friends – barely even that, really – back then.”

“Yeah right,” says Breda, like he thinks Roy’s being obtuse on purpose, “anyone with eyes could tell that you were into him. Even Sheska noticed and you know she doesn’t pick up on anything that isn't written down.”

“Oh,” says Roy, deflating.

He really had tried to be discreet about his feelings for Ed, for all the good it had apparently done.

“The only reason no one said anything until now is that almost everyone else here is afraid of you. You know, besides Hawkeye. They weren’t here in the early days though, when you used to sleep in the office and would sometimes forget to put pants–"

“If you value your job you’ll stop talking,” Roy says.

Breda laughs. “You got it, dude.”

 _Why do I even keep him around?_ Roy thinks, closing his eyes against the oncoming headache.

He finishes dressing, pretending that Breda, who is obviously out to ruin his life, isn’t whistling cheerfully in the shower stall a few feet away. Out of habit, Roy checks his phone before slipping his phone into his pants pocket.

There’s a text from Ed on the screen and he immediately feels better.

 _“When are we doing this date thing?”_ it says.

 _“When would you like to go?”_ he texts back.

 _“Right now but i have to go babysit calculations in the lab until 11 fucking kill me”_ comes the response after a solid, agonizing minute of the typing animation.

 _“That would certainly put a crimp in my plans to take you on the best date ever. Are you free tomorrow night?”_ Roy types back as his feet carry him out of the front door of the weight room and into the parking lot, where his car is waiting.

 _“You talk a pretty good game mustang"_ then _"Lets see if you can put your money where your mouth is im free after 7”_

_“That’s fine. Why don’t I pick you up then? And how do you feel about Indian food?”_

The typing animation goes on for a very long while this time and Roy sits in his car, not bothering to even turn the engine on while he waits for the response. When it comes at last it makes him crack a grin.

_“Indian food is fucking sweet but nowhere fancy ok ill be too tired for that tomorrow.”_

Smirking, Roy writes, _“As you wish. See you at yoga?”_

He fights the temptation to send Ed a heart emoji. He’s pretty sure that would be overkill.

 _“Wouldnt miss it”_ reads Ed’s blue speech bubble.

Roy starts his car. Tomorrow is going to be a good day.

* * *

The lab is not holding his attention today. Neither are the four fundamental forces of the universe. Which is really saying something.

No, what has his attention wandering is one Roy Mustang.

A fact of which the man in question must _never_ be made aware because it would probably send his ego into complete overload.

Well, that or it might make him feel compelled to kiss Ed stupid… so perhaps he should try telling him and see what – _no_.

_Damn it._

_Concentrate._

Ed needs to fucking concentrate.

Because as much as he would honestly love to just sit and think about how fucking thrilled he is that Roy actually _likes him back and holy shit the things he can do with his tongue and they're going on a date tomorrow and he doesn’t even know what to wear_ , this is really terrible timing. He needs his brain working at full capacity and his attention has to be on his work or he’s never going to figure out what he’s doing wrong.

Ed runs a hand through his hair and stares hard at the data on in front of him. He’d been so sure that this time he had it right. The math is perfect, the solution should have worked.

He _needs_ this solution to work.

Winter break is coming up, and while it’s not like _he’s_ actually going to take a break, his professors certainly are and Ed would like to have something concrete on his dissertation committee’s desk before the end of the calendar year.

And yet, in the freezing silence of his workspace, the computer continues to blink nonsense results back at him. He stares at the screen, willing the numbers to rearrange themselves into something meaningful and functional, but all they do is swim in front of his eyes in the way that tends to happen when he’s exhausted.

Which makes sense, seeing as he’s been here for… god… has it been hours or days? Ed doesn’t even know any more.

With a groan, Ed pushes his chair away from the table. The wheels slide smoothly across the linoleum floor and he lets them roll until he collides with the shelf behind him.

“This is going fucking nowhere,” he mutters, scrubbing his left hand over his face.

There is a knock on the lab door.

“What do you want?” Ed snaps, before remembering that he’s not supposed to be rude in the lab because it scares the undergrad assistants or whatever. “I mean, uh, come in.”

The door creaks open and Winry's face peeks inside.

“Wow, you look terrible,” she says before she pushes the door all the way open and steps in. “How long have you been at this?”

Winry, who is dressed in her lab coat, has her own lab space in the same building, which is nice, because it means that Ed actually gets to see her sometimes. She’s up in the robotics department on the fifth floor working on her bio-engineering masters.

Technically, she doesn’t need it. She’s already a certified Automail mechanic and she worked as an intern for the team that invented the original prototypes. If she really wanted to she could go an open her own Automail shop right now and people would flock to her door. But Winry has this _thing_ about having appropriate credentials, and Ed isn’t really one to talk, seeing as how he collects degrees like they’re a limited and valuable resource.

She likes to come down and visit with Ed whenever she gets stuck on a problem, because she says that his “unique” way of looking at things is great for unsticking ideas. Also Winry likes to pester Ed about all of the various ways in which he is failing to actually care for himself. If Ed had to guess, he’d say that the latter was probably the bigger motivation for her frequent visits.

Ed droops. “I have no fucking clue. I’m not sure I actually remember what life on the outside is like any more.”

Winry wanders over to the screen and bends down to look at the data. Rows upon rows of code fill the screen and his simulator graph is flashing a red ‘error’ message at him over and over.

“I still don’t know how you manage to make sense of any of this, it looks like nonsense to me.” She says.

“I’m not making much sense of it either right now. Something’s wrong with the data. Or my math. Or my brain. I just can’t see it,” Ed grumbles.

“Maybe you need a break. And you definitely need something to eat other than Doritos and instant coffee. How has your stomach not exploded yet, by the way?” Winry asks as she eyes the mess of crumpled chip bags and paper coffee cups strewn about the room.

“Ugh. I don’t know. I guess maybe it’s made of metal too.” Ed yawns widely. “What time is it?”

Winry looks at him strangely. “It’s eight AM. Don’t you have a clock in here?”

Ed’s whole world stutters to a halt as an icy jolt of realization hits him. It’s eight o’clock on a Thursday. He should have been at yoga half an hour ago. With Roy.

_Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck._

Due to the nature of his machinery and its incredible sensitivity to interference, Ed’s lab is in the basement of the Science Building. Naturally, that means it has no windows which makes the passage of time difficult to monitor.

As for a clock, he’d had one when they gave him the space, but the ticking had driven him nuts so he got rid of it. He’d never bothered to replace it with a silent one, trusting that if he was late for something, either he would eventually glance at the one on his computer or someone would come and find him. But some days he just loses track of time and manages to fall through the cracks without anyone noticing. Like today, apparently.

“Fuck, where’s my phone? I have to go make a call.” Ed springs out of his chair, and begins shuffling through the mess on his desk.

“Ed, what’s the matter?” Winry asks.

“I’m late for – shit!” Ed watches, almost in slow motion, as a cascade of papers, knocked loose by his searching, collides with a mostly full coffee cup. The cup tips over and the light brown liquid spills everywhere, soaking into papers and creeping across the desk towards the bundle of cords connecting the Dark Energy Catcher to his laptop.

Winry, who is closer to the machine than Ed is, acts just in the nick of time. She whips off her lab coat and tosses it on the table, blocking the coffee from coming any closer to the delicate wiring.

Ed sags with relief.

“Holy shit, you are my hero,” he tells her.

“Damn straight,” she replies. “You owe me a new lab coat, by the way. This one has my name embroidered on it and everything.”

“Yeah, you got it. Hell, I’ll buy you a dozen. You just saved my fucking life.” Ed’s knees feel weak and he’s actually shaking a little as the adrenaline rush wears off.

A open liquid container in the lab. What an armature mistake. If any of his professors had seen that, they’d probably kick him out of the program.

He turns his attention to the coffee soaked papers.

The majority of the ruined documents are just printouts of data sheets. He has those stored on multiple hard drives and can easily get more. A significant stack, however, belongs to the copy of his most recent academic article that he had just submitted to his mentor, Dr. Izumi Curtis, for critique.

Dr. Curtis’s comments, written in precise, blue ink, are beginning to bleed and smear, becoming unreadable.

Ed closes his eyes. If she ever learns about this incident, she will murder him. Going back and asking her to revise his article again is not an option. Worse still would be publishing the article without making any of the revisions that she’d suggested. It would be the ultimate disrespect.

There’s no other choice; he has to work fast if he wants to salvage the notes. Yoga totally forgotten, Ed stares grimly at the daunting task before him.

“Winry, you wouldn’t happen to have a hair dryer, would you?” Ed asks.

* * *

 _It’s just one of those days_ , Roy thinks bitterly.

He had woken up that morning, sweating and panicked, tangled in his sheets and choking on a scream as images of the desert hell of Afghanistan slowly faded from his mind. He had gasped and sputtered, hands balling into fists as he tried to calm his thundering heartbeat.

It is over. It has been over for years. He is not going back.

It doesn’t matter. Some part of him had been left behind there, as surely as the bodies of the men whom he had been unable to save.

The doctors call them flashbacks. Thankfully they have decreased in number as the onward march of time pushes Afghanistan further and further into his past. But they still come, usually in dreams, to shake him to his core. He hasn’t had one in months though and he had begun to hope that they were a thing of the past as well.

He had sat up, groaning a little as his back protested against his night of thrashing around. In the corner of his room, the gold painting still sat on the easel, luminous and warm, even in the cool gray of the pre-dawn light.

Roy had stared at it, thoughts of Ed soothing his battered heart. They had yoga together soon and that would certainly do a great deal of good to chase the lingering negativity from his thoughts.

But Ed had never shown up. Nor had he responded to any of the texts or facebook messages that Roy sent. Naturally, he’s starting to get worried.

Honestly, he doesn’t think that Ed would blow him off. After all it was Ed who had made the first move in the game of their relationship and Ed who had asked him to set the date for their dinner tonight. Last minute cold feet all but ruled out, that leaves only the possibility that something has happened to prevent Ed from getting to their session.

It could be minor. He could have forgotten a meeting, or a paper, or perhaps he just lost his phone.

Or it could be something catastrophic.

The worst part is that Roy can’t even leave the gym to go check because he is booked back to back with clients all day.

All he can do is wait, stewing in anxiety until seven o’clock when he can finally try to find his missing physicist.

The day crawls along like a hypothermic snail and Roy feels like he’s probably going to die of old age before it’s through, but at long last closing time arrives.

Roy takes the world’s fastest shower, only forcing himself to do so because he is aware that he probably smells about as good as an entire team of football players after a hard match. Then he all but runs to the parking lot and throws himself into his car.

The royal blue Toyota Prius was not designed to be driven like a race car, but that certainly does not stop Roy from making a good faith effort. He darts through traffic, running two stop signs and getting honked at at least four times before he finally gets to the address that Ed had texted him the night before. Unsurprisingly, he finds himself in front of the University’s Briggs Science Building.

There’s a parking lot, but it’s key-card access only, so Roy leaves his car parked on the street out front and hopes that the parking enforcement is kind enough to leave him alone until after he’s ascertained whether or not Ed is even inside the facility.

Roy jogs up the stairs to the massive chrome and glass structure, footsteps echoing eerily in the growing darkness. The front door of the building is also key-card access only, but the timely exit of a couple of students allows him to slip through the doors. Roy walks up to the front desk in the lobby and clears his throat to get the attention of the pretty, dark skinned girl sitting there.

“Can I help you?” she asks, looking up from the massive textbook that she was reading, and sounding a bit irritated at the interruption. The open page in front of her depicts an automail leg, taken apart and laid out, with all the parts labeled carefully.

“I’m looking for room… uh… SB-3? Edward Elric’s lab,” Roy says, recalling the instructions Ed’s had given him for finding the room.

“Oh, you must be Mustang, then,” the girl says, and her tone gets markedly warmer.

Roy blinks. “You… know who I am?”

He supposes that it’s a good sign that Ed has at least told people to anticipate his arrival, but… why hadn’t he showed up earlier? Or called? Or texted?

“Yeah, Winry told me that Ed told her that you might come looking for him and I should let you past security,” she says. “Do you have a driver’s license on you?”

Roy blinks again, suddenly noticing that beyond the desk is indeed a fairly hefty security system, including a metal scanner and a pair of guards.

“Oh, yes. One moment,” he says, before digging his wallet out of his coat pocket and sliding the ID across the desk.

The girl looks between Roy and the card for a second, before handing it back and calling over to the guards, “Darius, this guy’s clear to go through. He’s going down to Ed’s lab, if one of you could take him there.”

“You got it Paninya,” the guard replies.

Roy smiles gratefully. “Thank you.”

“No problem. You should know that he’s been in there since yesterday, though. He might be… uh… ruder than usual,” Paninya says, already turning back to her book.

The taller of the security guards, a dark haired guy who reminds Roy faintly of a gorilla, beckons him through the scanner.

“You have anything in your pockets that’ll set this off?” he asks.

Roy pulls his keys and phone out of his pocket and deposits them in a waiting tray, then steps through the plastic arc.

The guard waits for the machine to beep then hands Roy back his things.

"The Sub Basement is a cellphone free zone. Make sure yours is turned all the way off," the guard says as he presses the button to call the elevator. Roy complies, switching off his phone.

"Why is that?" He asks, sticking the phone back in his pocket alongside his wallet.

The guard shrugs. "Something to do with Elric's lab."

The elevator ride down to Ed’s lab is silent and kind of awkward. The guard is obviously a man of few words, responding to Roy’s friendly “How are you today?” with a grunt and a shrug.

He lets Roy out of the elevator on sub-basement two.

“Third door on the left,” he says, then the door closes behind him and Roy is left standing in a white hallway that stretches out fairly far in either direction from the central elevator bank.

Following the guard’s instructions, Roy walks to the third door on the left of the hallway. It’s made of a brushed titanium with a heavy-duty, number pad lock, and there’s a plastic placard on it that reads: ‘SB-3 Elric, E. (PhD Candidate)’. Below that is taped a piece of paper that says “TURN OFF YOUR FUCKING PHONE BEFORE OPENING THE DOOR” in a slightly untidy scrawl.

Roy takes a deep, steadying breath, he knocks on the door.

“It’s open,” Ed calls from inside.

Cautiously, Roy turns the handle down and pushes the heavy door open. The room inside is not at all what he was expecting.

To begin with, when Ed had said “lab” Roy had been picturing test tubes and beakers, racks of chemicals. To be honest, he should have known better.

Ed is a physicist, not a chemist.

But he’s still surprised to see that the large white room is taken up mostly by a massive, extremely complex silver machine. The device is easily as tall as roy and probably weighs at least a ton. It's hooked up via a network of cables to four large computers, all of which are attached to monitors that are displaying a mountain of data and graphs that are shifting rapidly before his eyes. The rest of the space, not occupied by technology is taken up by crowded book shelves and a large desk.

And every available surface from the table top to the floor, is covered in sheets of coffee-stained paper.

In the center of the mess sits an exhausted and miserable looking Ed, who is squinting at one of the pages, trying to make out the words. There’s an open laptop by one of his knees and Roy can see a word document on the screen, cursor blinking in the middle of a paragraph.

Ed looks up when Roy enters and the _guilt_ on his face is so intense that it makes Roy’s heart ache.

“Roy,” Ed says, in a voice that is half abject unhappiness, and half a plea for understanding, “I’m so fucking sorry I missed yoga.”

Avoiding the papers strewn about the floor, Roy steps inside the lab and lets the heavy door swing shut behind him.

“Ed, it’s fine. Honestly. I just wish that you had let me know that you were okay. I was… I was worried that something had happened to you.” He gives Ed a tired smile and Ed crumples a little more.

“I knew I should have sent Winry over to the gym. She offered, you know, but it’s finals for her and fuck I didn’t want to be that asshole who made her run all over the place. Phones fuck up the machinery so I couldn’t call you from down here, and _I_ couldn’t leave here because I spilled coffee on the worst thing possible… and … and – sorry. I’m just. Sorry. Today has been shit from start to finish.” Ed scrubs both of his hands over his face and Roy’s heart aches for him. He’s never seen the younger man look so defeated and beaten down before, even during their fight, and it’s rather alarming.

Carefully avoiding the scattered papers, Roy steps over to Ed and holds out his hand.

“If you leave for a bit right now, will anything fall apart or be ruined that you cannot fix easily?” He asks.

Ed lowers the paper he was holding and reaches out for Roy’s hand, allowing himself to be pulled to his feet. He winces, Roy would guess, at the blood returning to his folded leg.

The blond starts then looks around at the chaos of the lab as if seeing it for the first time. “Not… really. I think everything is as salvaged as it’s going to get.”

Ed makes a move to pull his hand away, but Roy stops him and twines their fingers together. “Good. Then we’re leaving. The girl at the front desk said you’ve been down here since yesterday and frankly you look like you need food and sleep before you drop dead.”

Ed closes his eyes and his shoulders slump further. “Holy shit, I forgot. We were supposed to go out tonight too, weren’t we? It’s too late for that now, isn’t it?”

Roy rolls his eyes and tugs Ed close so that he can wrap his arms around the smaller man’s back.

“Yes, Ed. But dates are supposed to be fun and I don’t think you’d enjoy yourself very much being dragged around right now.”

Ed sighs into Roy’s neck and the fan of his eyelashes brushes like moth wings against the skin there.

“No, I really wouldn’t. I’m sorry, though. I was really looking forward to it,” he says.

Roy smiles. “Me too, but it’s not like it was a once in a lifetime opportunity. We'll try again, alright?”

“Okay,” says Ed and Roy can hear the smile in his voice.

“For now though, get your things, we’re leaving.” He drops a kiss on Ed’s head, then another on his lips, and pulls away.

Ed makes a noise of protest, but Roy notices that he looks much less miserable than he did before, when they separate.

“Yeah, okay. I can get on board with not being in this hell-hole any longer,” Ed says. He snags his red hoodie and a black messenger bag off of the desk chair and shoos Roy out of the room before shutting off all the lights and pulling the door closed behind them.

“Food or sleep?” Roy asks, as they make their way back towards the elevator.

“What?” says Ed, who is in the process of pulling the hoodie on.

Roy grins. “Do you want food or sleep first?”

“Food, definitely food,” Ed says, after a minute of deliberation. He punches the call button for the elevator. “I haven’t eaten anything since this fucking terrible sandwich that Winry brought me from the cafeteria at lunch. It was so stale that it probably would have shattered if I dropped it.”

“Ugh,” says Roy, making a disgusted face, “I can’t believe you actually ate that.”

Ed shrugs. “Desperate times.”

Roy jabs his thumb back in the direction of the lab just as the elevator dings and the doors glide open.

“What happened anyway?” he asks, stepping inside.

Ed’s face twists into a scowl. “I was a fucking idiot. I had an open drink in the lab. Which is something that they teach you never to do under any circumstance on like… the fucking first day of physics 101 in undergrad. And I was just a textbook example of why that is.”

He punches the button for the lobby and leans against the wall.

“I pulled an accidental allnighter and only realized that I was running late to meet you when Winry came to check on me. You might have noticed my lack of windows and phone access in there. It can be really hard to keep track of the hours. But anyway, I was looking for my phone so I could go upstairs to call and tell you that I was on my way. And that's when I knocked a cup of coffee onto an article that I had just gotten back – with revisions – from one of the professors who holds the fate of my PhD in her hands.”

Roy makes a sympathetic sound.

“Yeah, it was a fucking disaster. I have basically spent the last day drying the pages and trying to salvage as many of her comments as I could because the submission deadline is right around the corner. I wanted to leave to call you, but time was of the essence and I couldn’t even get your number off my phone because I can't turn it on down there.” Ed gives him a sort of wry grin. “It was a perfect storm of shit luck and utter idiocy.”

“That really does sound like a nightmare,” Roy says and Ed gives him this sort of hopeless, tired look.

Which, really, just won’t do.

Roy, who has been standing a carefully respectable distance away from Ed, places a hand on the blond man’s shoulder, fingertips just brushing against the nape of his neck, and looks him dead in the eye.

“I think Mercury must be in retrograde, it’s been a bad day for everyone.” he says with a smile that is _just_ shy of being a smirk. As he hoped, Ed’s face goes from resigned distress, to amused irritation.

“Please tell me you don’t fucking believe in _that_ shit. Weird _everything is connected_ stuff I can _almost_ get behind because there’s a pretty strong scientific basis for some of those theories. But if you’re gonna start rambling about astrology, we have to have a serious talk about the difference between reality and fantasy,” Ed says, batting Roy’s hand away.

Roy’s smile widens. “What? You don’t believe that your destiny is written in the stars and that our compatibility is totally defined by when we were born?”

“Holy shit, get me off this elevator,” Ed groans, but he’s grinning for real now too.

“I am joking,” Roy reassures him as they step out into the lobby. Ed waves to Paninya who waves back and nods to the guards.

“You’d better be,” Ed says, “because I’m not sure I could date someone who wasn't.”

"And that would be tragic for both of us." Roy says.

He brushes his fingers against Ed’s once they are outside of the building. Ed’s not a PDA guy and Roy's not going to push, but that doesn’t mean that he can’t offer and let Ed come to him if he so chooses. There’s a moment of hesitation, then Roy smiles as he feel’s Ed take his hand and twine their fingers together once more.

“How do you feel about Chinese food?” Roy asks.

Ed grins at him. “I fucking love it. I didn’t realize you could eat it, with your weird diet and all, though.”

“I’m vegan, not dead, Edward,” says Roy, rolling his eyes.

"I didn't realize there was a difference."

“ _And_ there’s a place about a block and a half from here that does incredible things with tofu.” Roy says, choosing to ignore Ed on the grounds that he is taking cheap shots.

The snort of laughter and puff of white mist as Ed’s breath escapes into the night is Ed’s only response to that.

Hand in hand they walk down the steps.

* * *

Roy greets Ed at exactly seven thirty on Monday morning, with a smile and a chaste kiss, before settling in a child’s pose on his mat. The smug bastard is wearing a shirt that says “Namasté In Bed” – exactly how many Namasté pun shirts does the man own, Ed would really like to know – and because _of course he is_ , the criminally tight pants.

Roy is a consummate professional the entire lesson, which the stressed out PhD candidate and double amputee Ed really appreciates. Especially after a weekend like he’s had, which involved very little sleeping and a lot of sitting with terrible posture while he combed over coffee-stained and blurry papers. But the part of Ed that wants to climb Roy like a tree and finally exhaust four months of sexual tension, finds this to be incredibly frustrating.

Being in a relationship with him hasn't made Roy any less of a sadist and the bastard makes him work hard, setting him to stretches that target the worst of his stiff and aching muscles. Though the warmth in his gaze every time their eyes meet is almost enough to melt Ed into a loose-limbed puddle of goo. So. All in all, definitely not a bad session.

“Your shoulder looked a little stiff today,” Roy says, coming up behind Ed as the blond is rolling up his mat post savasana. He wraps his arms around Ed’s waist and rests his chin on Ed's flesh and bone shoulder.

They are both sweaty from the heat of the room and the exertion of the day’s flow. This should be gross, but Ed revels in it, because he is obviously broken somehow.

“I think I slept weird. ‘s better now, though,” he says.

Roy makes a ‘hmm’ sound of contentment in Ed’s ear before kissing the skin right below it. “Good.”

Letting the mat fall back to the floor, where it promptly unrolls again, Ed turns in the circle of Roy’s arms so that he is facing the taller man.

“Roy,” Ed says, as his slips his arms around Roy’s back in turn, pulling him in tight. Like this he can feel the taught strength of the yoga instructor's body, unsheilded by the bulk of coats and jeans. Ed shivers. “We need to talk about your pants.”

“So you noticed. I have been told they’re a pretty good look for me,” Roy says, a sly grin curling his mouth.

“Of course I fucking noticed, I would have to be blind not to,” Ed says. “They’re fucking distracting and you need to stop wearing them immediately.”

“Are you telling me to take my pants off?” Roy asks, giving Ed a smile that is pure, filthy delight.

Ed feels heat rushing to his face and he pulls Roy in for a searing kiss.

Roy makes another sound of pleasure in the back of his throat, a new one that Ed has not heard before. This sound is deeper, closer to a growl than anything, and Ed grins into the kiss.

His hands find their way to the curve of Ed’s ass; making his muscles jump a little under the touch.

Feeling uncharacteristically bold, Ed slips his own hands underneath the stupid shirt and up along Roy's back, delighting in the feel of smooth, warm skin over tight muscle underneath the fingertips of his left hand. Roy busies himself with nipping and nibbling along Ed’s jaw while his hands roam, unchecked across Ed’s back, hips, and ass.

His pants, which are nowhere near as tight as Roy’s, are beginning to feel quite restrictive anyway and when he grinds his body up against Roy’s hips, it’s pretty damn clear that Roy is in a similar state.

The yoga instructor’s hands slide underneath Ed’s shirt, ghosting along abdominal muscles and the ridges of his ribcage. Fingertips trace curiously around the Automail port but do not linger there. Ed does not feel the sort of self-conscious anxiety about the metal and scar tissue that he has felt with lovers in the past. Roy treats the Automail like any other part of him, worth touching, worth knowing, not off putting or repulsive at all.

His eyes drift open and he catches a glimpse of himself and Roy, locked together, in the mirror. He looks fucking _debauched_. Lips pink, cheeks flushed and golden hair in sweaty disarray.

And then there’s Roy. Who looks perfect as usual. The swoop of his black hair undisturbed by either yoga or their activities, but. It’s not even how he looks that gets to Ed in that moment.

It’s the way that he’s moving. Grinding his hips against Ed’s and lavishing attention on his neck and throat as though it’s something holy and he is a man at prayer.

Ed's eyes flutter halfway closed and he moans. The sound is loud in the silence of the room.

Which.

_Shit._

They’re in the yoga studio.

Right.

The session is over and he has about half an hour to get cleaned up before he’s expected to be on campus to teach the Intro to Quantum Mechanics class today.

“Ahh, Roy. Stop. We… we need to stop,” Ed says, pulling away a little and shoving at Roy’s chest.

Roy makes a disappointed sound that is half sigh and half whine, but he complies. He looks at Ed, a worried crinkle between the perfect slashes of his dark brows.

“Is everything alright?” he asks, then he frowns a little. “This is going too fast, isn’t it? I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s fine. Fucking awesome, actually. And I would be totally down with doing this for the rest of the day. But I have to go shower and then teach and as much as they fucking love me over there, I’m still pretty sure that I’d get in trouble for playing hooky to make out with my yoga instructor.”

“Oh,” says Roy, and there’s actually a hint of pink in his face for once. Ed feels almost an irrational surge of glee at that. “Well, we can’t have you getting in trouble, now can we?”

“Nah, that would suck. I need those assholes to like me so they’ll keep helping me get grants for all this research. The mysteries of the universe aren’t going to unlock themselves for free, you know,” Ed says, grinning at Roy.

With what looks like a monumental effort on his part, Roy forces himself to step away from Ed. “You’ll have to forgive me for trying to keep you here a bit longer, it was harder than usual to keep my hands to myself today.”

Ed rolls his eyes. “Says the man who intentionally wore the tightest pants he owns. For fuck’s sake, can you even wear underwear with those?”

The words slip out of Ed’s mouth before his brain has a chance to say ‘ _hey genius, maybe you shouldn’t take the teasing that far when you’re trying to defuse the situation_ ’ and Roy gives him a wolfish grin in response. It’s all teeth and the promise that if Ed steps back in, he could find out for himself. Ed goes bright red again and the status is once more quo.

“Quit smirking you bastard, it was a rhetorical question and you know it.”

“If you say so,” says Roy in a tone that suggests that he really doesn’t believe a word Ed is saying.

Ed busies himself stuffing things into his dufflebag. “Okay you pervert, I have to go shower – and no that is not an invitation. Stop fucking laughing!”

Roy, who has begun to shake with silent mirth, reaches out and pulls Ed in towards himself again.

“Go get clean and educate the next generation of brilliant minds,” he says, still laughing, before kissing Ed once more.

“Are you going to be in the lab late again tonight?” he asks, once they draw apart.

Ed licks his lips, feeling a little dazed. He steps back again, needing the distance in order to get his brain working.

“Um… yeah, sadly this week is going to be pretty awful ‘til Friday. But on Friday I just have to go check the data and I’ll be done by like five.”

Roy who has finally recovered from both hysterics and kissing says, “Wonderful. Then how about we try that date again?”

Ed grins. “Yeah, that would be good. You still good to pick me up? You may have noticed that I don’t really drive much.”

“How does seven sound?”

“Fucking awesome,” He says, grinning. Then Ed hastily retreats from the studio before he changes his mind about exactly how much he really needs to leave _now_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you have enjoyed the story so far, comments and kudos are greatly appreciated!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here it is! The final chapter! 
> 
> So very many thanks are owed with this chapter. To [Gettibucket](http://gettibucket.tumblr.com/) who keeps drawing me incredible art, that inspires me to write all kinds of wild stuff, thank you from the bottom of my heart! To [Tierfal](http://tierfal.tumblr.com/) who liked every single one of my tumblr posts about working on this fic and gave me the biggest case of "senpai noticed me now I HAVE to finish" and also helped me out with the name of a place in this chapter, thank you for all the support and encouragement. To [Mthaytr](http://mthaytr.tumblr.com/) thank you so much for talking me through my writer's block; you're freaking awesome. To [Obersten](http://obersten.tumblr.com/) thank you so much for all of Roy's horrible yoga pants inspiration and for letting me play in the yoga au sandbox too; you are the raddest.
> 
> And as always, with boundless adoration, to my inimitable beta goddess [Edroys](http://edroys.tumblr.com/): I know you want me to stop saying thank you but I can't. This fic would never have gone anywhere near the internet without your help and it certainly wouldn't be nearly as coherent. So thank you thank you thank you. XOXO

The weird thing about the week that follows is how much Roy misses Ed.

It’s absurd.

They text constantly, any time that Roy isn’t teaching and Ed isn’t either in a class or in the lab, but Roy longs for Ed’s physical presence every second that they are apart. By Wednesday night he’s so tired of this constant ache, that he actually decides to do something about it. He helps Riza close up the gym, then gets in his car and drives over to the science building.

Roy makes a stop along the way to get coffee (in a to-go cup with a lid and one of those little plastic stoppers that prevents spilling, because he’s a thoughtful sort of guy and has no interest in causing Ed _more_ problems) and a couple of vegan brownies from Dolce Cielo, a late-night dessert bar and bakery that he is quite fond of. Dolce is one of those things that he makes an exception for in terms of his fairly strict adherence to a nutritionally balanced diet. Because surely nothing that tastes as good the the pastries that they serve there could  _possibly_ be that bad for him. That would just be too cruel.

Paninya checks him in at the front desk again and sends him through security. Once more, Roy endures a silent ride down in the titanium box of an elevator and the disorienting feeling of being trapped underground in an endless white hallway.

But Ed’s utterly delighted face when Roy steps through the door of his lab makes it all worth it.

“What are you doing here? Not that I'm not really happy to see you,” says Ed, pushing back from his desk and getting to his feet. Then his eyes go wide. “I didn’t get the days mixed up, did I?”

Roy holds out the tightly sealed coffee cup and the brownie bag. “No, no, you’re fine. I just missed you and thought that perhaps I could tempt you away from the love of your life over there with brownies and caffeine.”

Ed snorts and jabs his head in the direction of the Dark Energy Catcher.

“Trust me Roy, that _thing_ is _not_ the love of my life. More like the bane of my existence. But you can definitely tempt me away from it. Hell, _you_ don’t even need the sweets, though I’ll never say no to chocolate.”

“Hmm, good. I’d hate to think that I was going to have to compete with a machine for your affections,” Roy says with a wink.

“Yeah well, you already have like… most of my affections. So. You know. It’s not much of a contest. Or whatever,” says Ed, blushing furiously before making a big show of stealing the Dolce bag away from Roy.

But Roy is too busy getting caught on the bit where Ed said _out loud and in so many words_ that Roy has most of his affection. It makes his heart pound, and he almost has to physically restrain himself from telling Ed how much he loves him right then and there.

It’s still too soon. If he holds too tightly there’s a chance that he could break this fragile new thing that he’s only just been handed.

Roy knows he’s in too deep already, but there’s not much he can do. He’s already drowning in the sea that is his adoration of Edward Elric, and all he can do is hold his breath and hope that he does not get washed away.

* * *

As usual, Ed is late to teach the Intro to Quantum Mechanics class on Friday morning. This time he’s a little later than usual because he got distracted making out with his really hot, _really_ flexible boyfriend in a yoga studio.

But whatever.

He’s pretty sure that he’s never once started a lecture on time. His students, who are all little shits in one way or another, are talking loudly, wondering what his tardiness is due to this time, when he walks in the door.

“Alright, shut the hell up. I know I’m late but that doesn’t change the fact that it’s science time and that means no talking,” He says, tossing his messenger bag on the desk and switching on the computer.

There’s a bit of laughter from the students, but they all fall obediently silent.

Originally, some of the other professors had told him that he really ought to use more professional language when teaching. Ed had responded by saying that if they wanted a professional, they should have hired a real professor. That little bit of sarcasm had earned him the ire of one half the department and the admiration of the other.

Ed, for all of his whining, actually does enjoy teaching. His students are sharp, if not a bit too smart-mouthed, and they all seem eager to prove to him that they are worthy of his attention and praise. Any class that he’s teaching always fills up fast and winds up with a waiting list. Which, is not something that even some of the tenured professors can say.

Usually Ed is a very invested teacher, all appearance to the contrary, but today his brain is preoccupied with the fact that he and Roy are going on a _date_ tonight. A real date.

And Ed. Well, Ed is not really a ‘date’ guy. He and Ling had never ‘dated’. They’d just been friends who hung out and argued about stuff and fucked when they got bored of arguing. Sure they'd had feelings for each other, but neither one of them had been any good at expressing them with words or actions. They'd just settled on what felt right for the two of them and rolled with it.

Dating, that’s new. Romance is new. Everything with Roy feels like a big first time and Ed feels like he’s sailed right off the edge of the map. He’s in totally uncharted water.

The one good thing, he supposes, is that he trusts Roy. Like, a lot, actually. Which is pretty surprising because Ed does not trust easily. But Roy is _so good_. And respectful.

Ed trusts that Roy will _probably_ not take him anywhere that Ed will not enjoy.

But all the same.

_Holy fucking shit what has he gotten himself into?_

So Ed teaches and goes to his own class and checks the computers in the lab, all while quietly losing his mind because in just a few hours he’s going to have to put on nice clothing and then he and Roy are going on a real date and he’s not _fucking prepared for this_.

* * *

Roy grins as he pulls up in front of the apartment building where he dropped Ed off after getting late-night Chinese food the week before. Through the wide windows on the front of the first floor unit, he can see Ed having what appears to be an argument with a taller blond man who _has_ to be his brother, Alphonse. Ed is gesticulating wildly and Al looks fondly amused at his brother’s antics.

Roy shuts off his engine and climbs out of the car.

The Elric brothers live in the up-and coming neighborhood on the east side of the University District. Their apartment building is actually an ageing victorian mansion, with a wrap-around porch, that looks to have been subdivided into multiple units. Carefully smoothing down the waistcoat that’s he’s wearing over a dark teal shirt, Roy checks his hair in the dark glass of unit one’s front door.

His long black wool coat is open despite the chill, because he personally feels that it looks better that way, and thankfully his black slacks seem to be laying flat; he’s glad to see that their time spent in his locker at work hasn’t wrinkled them too badly.

Roy rings the bell for unit two and listens to the scuffling sounds coming from behind the door.

After a few seconds, it flies open and Alphonse Elric’s face is beaming at him from inside.

“Hi,” he says, grinning from ear to ear, “you must be Roy! Come on in.”

“Oh my god, _Al_ , I told you that we are not staying. Not after what you just said!” says Ed, shoving his brother out of the entrance so that he can slip past him and out onto the stoop. “Roy, let’s go. Like... Immediately.”

“Aww, brother! You’re no fun!” Al calls after them, and Ed takes hold of Roy’s hand and all but drags him down the steps.

“It was nice… ah… meeting you, Alphonse?” says Roy, a little bewildered.

“You too! Have fun, guys! And be safe!” Al calls from the open doorway.

“He is the worst brother ever,” Ed mutters, but he belies the words by turning back to wave at his brother.

“What exactly _did_ he say that made you so eager not to have us in the same room?” Roy asks.

Ed covers his face with the hand not currently holding Roy’s. “He told me that since our parents are gone it is his duty to show you embarrassing baby pictures. And also to interrogate you thoroughly and make sure all your intentions with me are pure.”

Roy laughs. “I’m afraid that he’d be very disappointed. My intentions are nothing of the sort.”

“They’d fucking better not be,” Ed says, then he stops and turns to grin up at Roy. “Hi, by the way.”

“Hello,” Roy says in turn. He kisses Ed’s cheek, more a brush of the lips than a real kiss and then pulls back to look Ed over.

Tonight, Ed is wearing a pair of dark jeans and a white button-up under his black leather jacket. He's also wearing what would appear to be dress shoes. The pants fit Ed almost impossibly well and the jacket accentuates the breadth of his shoulders. He looks handsome and sharp, in a roguish short of way. Honestly, Roy wouldn’t have cared if Ed was wearing his hoodie and biker boots as usual; the place they’re going is not the sort of restaurant that has a strict dress code. But Ed looks so _good_ like this that Roy is momentarily rendered speechless.

“I wasn’t aware that you even owned a dress shirt. It’s not quite your style,” he says, once his mouth decides to work again.

Ed shrugs a little, cheeks turning pink. “It’s not actually mine… I asked Al what to wear and he started freaking out about this being ‘too last minute’ and then he threw a bunch of clothes at me. If it’s not fancy enough or whatever for where we’re going, that’s on him.”

“You’re perfect the way you are,” Roy says and Ed makes a face.

“Quit being sappy and let’s go before Al starts hanging out the window to yell at us.”

It’s then that Ed catches sight of the Prius and his face does this funny thing where it looks like he’s trying not to laugh and cry at the same time.

He’d made that same expression the week before as well. Back then he had taken one look at the car and said, “I really don’t know what else I was expecting.”

“What’s wrong with my car?” Roy had asked, feeling very defensive.

“It’s ridiculous,” said Ed, “and it looks like an Apple mouse from the 90’s.”

Roy had pinned the blond with an unimpressed expression. “Do you want a ride home or not? If you want to keep insulting my car you can walk.”

That shut Ed up in a hurry and he got in the vehicle with no further complaints.

This time Ed just sighs and looks at the Prius with resigned disapproval.

Roy pretends not to notice and pats the dashboard lovingly as he slips into the driver’s seat. He _loves_ his car. It’s fun to drive, gets fantastic gas mileage, it’s great for the environment, _and_ it’s in his favorite color. So really, no downsides. Ed can just learn to deal.

The restaurant is called Wanderlust.

Roy has only been there once before, but it had definitely been at the top of his list of places when trying to think of somewhere to take Ed. One good thing to come from the cancellation of their previous date is that the additional week of planning time had given him the opportunity to get a reservation here. It’s just shy of what could be classified as upscale, but it’s not actually fancy, meaning that it suits his purposes quite well.

Wanderlust is located in the Central Business District, which is functionally downtown Amestris, and the restaurant is a modern venue decked out mostly in black and white. Dark wood and gold accents lend an air of sophistication to the establishment, but it is decidedly not frilly. The walls are covered in massive hand drawn maps and all of the light fixtures are made from old globes.

When they step through the door, they are greeted immediately by a hostess in a black dress. Roy tells her his name, and she smiles politely, gesturing for them to follow a nearby waitress with short blond hair.

She leads them through the crowded restaurant, and up a flight of stairs to the second level; a sort of loft that overlooks the restaurant on one side and the city through a wall of wide glass windows on the other. Their table is right next to the windows, and Ed peers through them, staring out at the city below with interest. After introducing herself as Clara, and taking their order for a bottle of wine and some water, she hands them their menus and then backs off to give them a minute to read.

“What do you think?” Roy asks.

"I think this place is pretty cool,” Ed tells him, honestly. “Never heard of it before, though.”

Roy grins, feeling a bit smug and self-satisfied. He knew this was the right choice.

“It’s fairly new. I only know about it because the owner is a client. I thought this might be to your liking.”

“Well if the food is any good, then you thought right,” says Ed. “Actually I’m a little surprised it’s your kind of place though. I always had you pegged for like… I dunno...  _The Happy Hippy Cafe_ types of places. Maybe it’s all the hemp bracelets you wear but I guess I just never pictured you in a restaurant like this.”

That makes Roy laugh. “If you ever find a place called the Happy Hippy Cafe please let me know, because that’s definitely right up my alley. But so is this. While I’m not really a fan of traditional white tablecloth dining, I _am_ always interested in creative cooking and unique ambiance. This place checks both of those boxes.”

“As long as you don’t call yourself a _foodie_ we’re good,” Ed says before looking back down at his menu.

“And what is wrong with being a foodie, Edward?” Roy asks, mostly to see if Ed’s face will do anything interesting. He is not disappointed.

“It’s a pretentious word that hipsters use to make themselves sound sophisticated when really all they’re doing is just eating weird shit that they don’t even like to impress other people that they probably also don’t like,” Ed says, then he seems to realize that he was sort of ranting so he flushes and glances away. “Also it sounds dumb."

Roy laughs, and then takes a moment after Ed falls silent to really look at his dinner companion. Ed’s hair shines in the lamplight and the glow of the city below is reflecting in blue white on his face, settling on the planes and angles of his cheeks and jaw. He sucks in a breath, struck in that instant by how beautiful Ed really is. He feels _lucky_ to be here with him. Really, really lucky. There really aren’t too many people like Ed out there.

Extraordinary, brilliant, and beautiful, Ed shines like the sun from within. It’s as though he is filled to the brim with an irrepressible light that threatens to outshine the stars themselves. Roy wants to bask in the glow of him for as long as he’s allowed.

“So what’s good here?” Ed asks, gold eyes rising to meet Roy’s once more, and interrupting his line of thought.

“Hmm,” Roy says, “the last time I was here I had the butternut squash galette with roasted garlic and thyme. And they have a great appetizer that’s a baked apple stuffed with walnuts. But as you know, I’m going for the vegan options. And while I’d _highly suggest_ that you try them, I think you might be happier with one of the meat dishes instead. I do have it on rather good authority that their meat selection is at least locally and humanely sourced.”

Ed grins at Roy. “I’m glad you’ve finally stopped trying to convert me. That was a battle you were never going to win.”

“Well. I would not say that I have stopped. But a good strategist knows when a change of tactics is needed. And after all, isn’t doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results the definition of insanity?” asks Roy.

“Insanity or quantum physics,” Ed replies, then shakes his head. “Ugh I promised myself I wasn’t going to talk science at you tonight.”

Laying his menu down on the table, Roy frowns slightly. “Why not? It’s what you do, isn’t it? You yourself told me not to hang out with scientists if I didn’t want to talk about it and you don’t exactly see me fleeing in the opposite direction.”

“Well. Yeah,” says Ed, then he sighs,” I guess I just feel like I’ve talked a whole hell of a lot about me – which you should know is not something I’ve ever said to _anyone_ before – but I still don’t really know that much about your life. I mean, other than the fact that you were a soldier and you and Hawkeye dated for a bit. “

The waitress comes back, interrupting the conversation. She is carrying a bottle of wine and a pair of glasses.

“Compliments of the house,” she says, pouring the dark red wine into each of the glasses.

“Tell Maria she has my thanks,” Roy says.

“Certainly,” says the waitress, then takes out a clipboard and pen from her apron pocket. “Have you had enough time to look at the menu or do you need a few more minutes?”

Ed shrugs and looks to Roy.

Roy nods. “You start.”

Ed orders the chicken marsala and Roy opts to repeat his order from his first visit. The waitress writes everything down and then nods sharply.

“Enjoy your wine, gentlemen. I’ll have some bread out shortly,” she says before leaving them in peace once more.

“So?” Ed prompts, once the waitress is gone. “What’s your story?”

“Hmm… that depends. How far back do you want me to begin?” Roy asks, raising an eyebrow.

Ed picks up his glass and swirls the wine around. “I mean you don’t have to begin at like conception or anything. Actually, please don’t because that would be really weird. But where were you born? Do you have any family? What the hell did you study in college that made you think joining the military was a good idea?”

A surprised laugh escapes from his lips. “Did you write down a list of things that you wanted to ask if you ever got the opportunity?”

“Just answer the questions, Mustang. You can ask some of your own if you want but I’m actually fucking curious about you. You’re pretty good at doing this impenetrable wall of marble act but I know there’s shit going on behind it.”

That’s actually fair. Roy is kind of a reticent guy. He likes to talk but he doesn’t really _say_ much unless he has to.

“Well,” he begins slowly, “I was born in San Francisco. My father was a Navy SEAL who died in Iran when I was three. My mother wasn’t really around much after that and I ended up living with my paternal aunt, Chris, here in Amestris until I went off to college. It sounds sad but to be honest, I don’t really remember my parents at all, so I suppose it’s not really too that tragic.”

Ed watches him, eyes sharp and laser focused. There is almost a physical weight to Ed’s gaze, a warm weight that settles on him whenever those golden eyes turn in Roy’s direction.

“I was a political science major, of all things, at Stanford. And I had this professor, a man named Grumman, who had some radical ideas about restructuring the military from within. I suppose I was attracted to the idea of being able to make a change in the American war machine that could affect the whole world for the better.”

Roy sighs and shrugs. “So after I graduated, I enlisted. What I didn’t anticipate was that Riza would follow me. That was the biggest fight we ever had. She didn’t tell me that she had done it, just showed up with her gear packed and ready, in uniform on the first day of basic.”

Ed grimaces. “Oh shit. I bet that didn’t go over well.”

The corner of Roy’s mouth twitches a little. “That’s putting it mildly, I’m afraid. I don’t think I’d ever been that mad at someone before. Because you see, she had always talked about going into international relations so I didn’t even think the military was a remote possibility for her and she never said a word about it. Given that we used to tell each other everything, I felt pretty betrayed for a while.”

He picks up his neglected glass of wine and takes a sip. It’s a Pinot Noir and a good one at that. Roy will definitely have to remember to thank Maria the next time she comes in for a lesson.

“But that is an argument that she won, quite soundly I might add. And in the end we made it back from Afghanistan more or less in once piece, and we made a couple of very dear friends over there who you will doubtless meet at some point soon. I started teaching yoga in a studio near the university shortly after I got back, and now here we are.”

Ed clinks his glass against Roy’s, grinning. “You _can_ give straight answers! I’m actually impressed.”

“What can I say Edward, I enjoy being a man of mystery, but for you I will make an exception,” says Roy with a wink.

The blond raises an eyebrow. “Are you sure that you don’t just keep quiet so that you don’t give away what a big weirdo you are under all the good looks and charm?”

“Please tell me more about how good looking and charming you think I am,” Roy says, and Ed goes a very interesting shade of pink.

“Nah, I’m pretty sure I’ve fed your ego enough for one night,” Ed says.

“That is debatable,” says Roy.

Ed snorts and takes a long drink from his wine glass. He sets it back on the table and cocks his head. “Okay, I have one more question, and it's something I’ve been wondering about for a while now.”

Roy raises an eyebrow.

“Oh?” he asks.

“Why Alchemy Fitness? Why not _Roy n’ Riza’s_ or even _Mustang’s Gym_?”

“Because those are both terrible names,” Roy says, shaking his head as he leans back a little in his chair, settling in.

“I read a book in college talking about the ancient theoretical study of alchemy and it said something to the effect of ‘the first rule of alchemy is equivalent exchange; to obtain something, something of equal value must be lost’.” Roy shrugs. “The idea stuck with me. I suppose that Riza and I decided to call the gym Alchemy because we liked the idea of acknowledging that our clients do give things up – bad habits, unhealthy lifestyles, time, effort – in order to get the results they want.”

“Huh,” says Ed, “actually, I like that.”

“I’m rather fond of it myself. But I believe I was promised some science earlier and I would like to collect,” says Roy, changing the subject.

That makes Ed grin. “What kind do you want? Science is sort of a big topic.”

“How about Dark Energy? You mentioned that it’s a large component of your dissertation but you never explained it. So to be honest, I’ve been imagining it to be something like magic and a more concrete explanation would not go amiss.”

Ed chews his bottom lip for a second, then takes a drink from his wine glass. “So Dark Energy, huh… well. Okay, for starters, 95% of the matter in the universe is something that we can’t actually measure. That should give you a little bit of an idea of how the rest of this is going to go.”

* * *

“Do you want to come back to my place for coffee?” Roy asks, as they’re stepping out of Wanderlust and onto the city street.

The dark sky is covered in thick clouds, purple-gray in the glow of the city lights, and the wind whips around them with the chilly promise of snow in the near future.

Ed almost trips over his own feet. He doesn’t really know much about the intricacies of social interaction. A lot of the nuance just flies right over his head. But this one he gets. That’s a euphemism. Roy has just asked him if he wants to go have sex.

Which.

Fuck yeah.

And also _Fuck_ , yeah.

Ed would very much like to have sex with Roy. But that means he has to open his mouth and actually say something.

Hopefully it won’t be anything too weird.

“I don’t know. Do you have almond milk?” is what comes out when he finally manages to unseal his lips.

And oh god, _why_ is his brain such a mess?

But Roy is unperturbed by Ed’s inability to be even remotely suave, and just says, “Of course. What kind of a vegan do you think I am?”

Ed’s stomach does it’s customary swooping thing and he is pretty sure that he’s grinning like an idiot. Roy, wonderful, Roy, is the first person since Al and maybe Winry, to just roll with Ed’s utter lack of communication skills. Roy has enough communication skills for two people anyway, so maybe that has something to do with it.

He realizes that Roy is still waiting patiently for a response to his question.

“Coffee would be good,” Ed says.

The drive back to Roy’s place is… _tense_. But not bad tense, just tense like an oncoming storm, tense like electricity in the air waiting to become lightening.

Roy’s fingers twine with Ed’s over the gearshift, thumb brushing back and forth over the skin of his knuckles as he drives and though they talk a little, it is mostly comfortable, meaningful silence that fills the car.

They pull up to Roy’s house about twenty minutes later and Ed blinks a little. He hadn’t really known what to expect, but the brick townhouse in the university district was certainly not it. Roy maneuvers the Prius into the garage and climb out.

“Please forgive the mess, this has been a hectic week,” Roy says before opening the door to the most beautiful home Ed has ever seen.

He’s not really into interior design and Alphonse likes to tell him that he has absolutely no sense for aesthetics whatsoever, but Roy obviously does. Which is not something that Ed could have predicted that from the way he dresses at the gym. The house is also not even remotely messy. The main floor of the home is one wide, open room that functions as both a living and dining space, separated from the kitchen by a breakfast bar. The ceiling soars upwards some two stories and Ed can see a second floor loft that he presumes to be the location of Roy’s bedroom.

That thought makes his stomach feel a bit funny.

Really the only words that can be used to describe the feelings that Roy’s home gives Ed are ‘warm’ and ‘comfortable’. It is obvious, even to his eyes that the yoga instructor has spent a lot of time making this place a safe haven.

Little touches that are intensely and obviously Roy are scattered through the impeccably decorated space, making it feel lived in and as though it belongs to a person instead of in a magazine. A record player with an extensive vinyl collection sits beside Roy’s massive TV, and a collection of rolled up yoga mats are hanging about in an umbrella stand near the garage door. There are framed concert posters from various bands and music festivals on the walls, and not an insignificant number of potted plants hanging about on every horizontal surface.

There’s also quite a lot of art on display. Some photography, but mostly paintings. A large number of them are geometric studies in bright hues that seem to have been painted by the same artist.

Ed realizes, after a minute that Roy is standing there, actually on the verge of fidgeting, likely waiting for Ed to say something about his house.

“You’re full of shit, you know that?” Ed says, because he is the Master of Tact. “Your house is awesome and so spotless that it almost doesn’t look real.”

“Well. Okay. I might actually have been up half the night cleaning.” Roy says with a grin, not even looking remotely ashamed at having his bluff called.

Ed begins pulling off his coat, tugging hard on the zipper when it gets momentarily caught. Finally it comes loose and he slips it off. He hangs it on the coat rack behind him.

“So you had plans to get me over here already, huh?”

Roy, who shrugs out of his own coat with the sort of effortless grace that Ed could never even hope to imitate, winks.

He is still wearing his waistcoat though and Ed is struck for what is probably the billionth time that night that Roy is the kind of person who actually wears waistcoats and manages to do it without looking stupid.

Like.

How?

If Ed were to try it, he would probably look like such a pretentious hipster asshole, but Roy just looks sophisticated.

“Well, I have always believed that it pays to be prepared,” he says.

Roy hangs up his coat then walks towards Ed.

“So,” he asks, “coffee?”

“Uh…” says Ed, because he was actually too distracted watching Roy move to formulate a coherent response. It’s like Roy has a magnetic charge and Ed finds himself pulled towards him, inexorably drawn by a force that he can’t hope to fight. He feels a little light headed.

He’s in Roy’s house.

Right now.

Alone with Roy.

_Holy shit._

“Yeah coffee. I mean. Yeah I want coffee,” Ed says. Coffee is good, coffee will give him something to hold in his hands, something solid. Something to do with his mouth, too, other than just spouting random words while his brain overloads from anticipation.

“Coffee it is,” Roy says as he walks into the kitchen.

Ed trails after him, marveling at the view.

Roy’s ass in his painted-on yoga pants is pretty astounding, but there’s something about the way that the cut of his dress slacks are sitting on his hips that’s really doing it for Ed. Roy is just really, unnaturally, unfairly attractive.

Though, Ed grins, he supposes that it could be less fair because at least now, Ed gets to touch Roy.

Roy begins scooping ground coffee out of a glass jar and into a fancy looking coffee maker.

With a press of a button, Roy turns the machine on, before turning back to Ed.

“Well, we have probably five minutes before this is ready. Would you like to see the rest of the house?”

Ed glances at the flight of stairs leading upwards and a thrill runs down his spine.

“Why not?” he says.

Roy gestures around the living room. “Obviously the downstairs is pretty self explanatory, but I wanted a multi-purpose space and I didn’t like how cramped a lot of houses around here are, with all the unnecessary dividing walls.”

He begins moving towards the staircase. “But the upstairs is really why I bought this place.”

Once more, Ed follows behind, and they climb the stairs to the second floor loft. It is immediately apparent why Roy fell in love with the house. The second floor has two rooms: an open loft, big enough to function as a bedroom, an art studio, and an office, and a walk through closet that leads to a bathroom, which Ed can see through a partially open door to the left of the stairs.

All along one wall is a massive bank of industrial style windows, a grid of small panes made of the thick, warped glass that is common in older homes in Amestris. These windows look out over the back alley and the rooftops of the homes on the next street over, but the view is foggy, like a watercolor painting, affording Roy both privacy and, during the day, ample natural light.

In the corner of the room sits an easel with a finished painting resting on it. It catches Ed’s eye and unconsciously he steps towards it.

“You paint?” he asks, like it isn’t fairly obvious. Roy has an easel in his bedroom and Ed can see paint tubes and brushes scattered about his desk. But he’s not really sure what else to say, because he _knows_ those colors. They are the same shades that he sees when he looks in the mirror every morning.

He feels sort of light headed. Like he’s falling from a very great height and yet is totally unafraid.

Roy clears his throat. “Ah… sometimes.”

Ed looks at him, _really_ looks at Roy. The composed veneer is still in place, but it’s starting to peel and crack a little around the edges. Roy is nervous. _He_ has made Roy nervous.

In that moment Ed’s belief in parallel universes is firmly cemented, because slipping sideways into another universe where everything is backwards is the only reasonable explanation for this.

“It’s good,” Ed says, walking closer to examine it, “I mean, I don’t know a lot about art, but _I_ like it at least.”

Roy draws closer, coming to stand shoulder to shoulder with Ed. “I do have to confess, for the sake of this not being too weird, that it was inspired by you.”

Color creeps into Ed’s cheeks, and he reaches up to tug at his ponytail. “I had a feeling.”

“It doesn’t bother you?” Roy asks, sounding a little self conscious.

Ed shrugs. “I… ah… I dunno, I kind of like the idea that you were thinking about me enough to want to paint something. I guess.”

Roy’s hand settles low on the small of Ed’s back, warm and solid. A shiver runs down his spine.

“You occupy a rather large portion of my thoughts these days.”

Ed turns towards the dark haired man. In the glow of the street lights shining through the window, Roy’s eyes are like the inky black of space, deep and endless, flecked with pinpoints of light.

“You’re such a smooth bastard, you know that, right?” Ed says, but he’s smiling and something hot that has been tightening in his stomach all evening slowly begins to uncoil itself.

Roy’s lips twitch a bit as if he’s trying to hold back a smile. “Would you like me to tone it down?”

“Don’t you dare,” Ed says, “I actually like it. You know. Because it’s you.”

He reaches up and cups the older man’s face. The palms of Ed’s hands settle on the sharp angle of Roy’s jaw and he threads his fingers – flesh and steel – through the cornsilk softness of Roy’s inky black hair. Ed rises up on his toes, just a bit and _only_ because the angle is better that way, and leans in to capture Roy’s lips with his own.

Language is imprecise and messy and Ed can never quite find the right words to say to make people understand what’s going on inside of his head. But actions he has always been good at.

So he closes his eyes, tilts his head into the kiss and runs his tongue along the seam of Roy’s lips. Ed kisses Roy and tries to convey everything that he cannot find words for. It seems to be working because Roy’s body shifts underneath his touch, arms wrapping around Ed’s waist, pulling him close.

Ed slides his hands further back to cradle Roy’s skull, changing the angle at which they meet, to deepen this kiss. Roy’s hair is strange against Ed’s left hand, the strands slip and slide and he finds it hard to get a good grip. His fingers tighten a bit and Roy makes this little choked off gasp then does this crazy thing to Ed’s tongue that totally blows his mind.

 _So hair pulling is a good thing. Interesting_ , Ed thinks and he tucks that little bit of information away in his ever growing mental file of facts about Roy.

Roy kisses Ed like he’s a man dying of thirst and Ed is his last drink of water; sucking on Ed’s tongue, before redoubling his efforts to taste and explore and tease every corner of Ed’s mouth. Roy bites gently at Ed's lower lip, tugging just enough to make his head spin.

If asked, Ed would deny it, but the way that Roy kisses him, reverently and with such thoroughness, turns his knees to jello. He’s grateful for the presence of Roy’s arms at his back because he’s no longer sure that he could actually stand without them.

Ed moans softly, unable to keep the sound in.

His pants, the dumb jeans that Al had insisted he buy the last time they went shopping together even though they were _way_ too tight through the leg, are also becoming far too tight in the crotch as well. He grinds his hips into Roy’s, feeling an answering hardness against his thigh, and Ed’s whole body goes _electric_.

He hasn't wanted another person like this in ages.

Maybe ever.

He doesn’t just want to sleep with Roy, he wants to press himself so close to him that their molecules mesh and intertwine. This is crazy, totally out of control, and he can’t get enough.

Roy leaves Ed’s lips behind to bite at his jaw, while his hands busy themselves with undoing the row of tiny white buttons on the front of Ed’s shirt.

“Oh thank fuck,” Ed all but groans as he turns his attention to the much larger buttons on Roy’s waistcoat.

“Hmm?” Says Roy.

“Small buttons and Automail aren’t friendly, I needed fucking help getting into this thing, don’t know how Al thought I was… holy shit.” Ed says, pausing as he realizes that his brother is a master manipulator and also _way_ too invested in Ed’s love-life.

“What?” Roy asks, looking bemused.

“Nothing,” says Ed emphatically, as he shoves the waistcoat off of Roy’s shoulders.

Because they’re both in the process of trying to undress each other, it gets stuck on Roy’s elbows and there’s a moment of awkward shuffling as they both try to get out of the way. Then Ed realizes very abruptly how ridiculous this all is and cracks up. Roy takes one look at the hysterical physicist and he’s gone too.

There’s something really wonderful about being able to laugh like this, half dressed and dizzy with desire. It obliterates the last lingering shreds of awkwardness and makes Ed feel warm and giddy.

Roy pulls off his waistcoat and lays it neatly aside on the steamer trunk at the foot of his bed. The waistcoat is followed shortly by his teal button-down, and he is left standing there, in his completely magnificent, bare-chested glory. It makes sense, given the sheer amount of time that Roy spends engaged in physical activity, but he looks like a greek statue come to life.

Though the body before him has a surprise that Ed did not anticipate. A trio of pink and white scars, slightly raised sunburst shapes decorate the left side of his stomach.

Ed sucks in a breath and reaches out his flesh hand to touch them. "Are those..."

"Bullet wounds. Yes." Says Roy. His dark eyes watch Ed's fingers trace over the scars and Ed feels the muscles of Roy’s abdomen twitch.

Ed has a weird moment where his brain catalogues every organ and muscle in that area. At least one of the shots hit Roy’s stomach. It's _almost_ a miracle that he is standing here right now, with Ed, safe and alive.

He reaches for Roy, needing to kiss him, to feel their chests pressed together, skin on skin, warm and alive.

Roy’s body curves around his, strong and sure, while his hands finish shoving Ed's shirt off of his shoulders. The white garment flutters to the floor.

His hands are a fire against Ed’s flesh, roaming and roving, seemingly unable to remain still.

He nips at Ed’s bottom lip, then licks at the slightly abraded skin to sooth it.

“You should know,” Roy says, voice just above a rumble, “that every time you bite your lip, it wreaks unfathomable havoc on my self control.”

“I do not bite my lip,” Ed says indignantly.

Roy nips at his lip again. “Yes you do.”

Then his mouth covers Ed’s once more, swallowing up any more protest that Ed might have made about how he is _not_ that predictable.

Clever fingers find their way to Ed's belt, tugging the leather free of its buckle and undoing the button of his jeans below. The sounds of a zipper and the slide of denim against skin is followed by the sudden chill of air hitting his now bare legs. Ed steps out of the jeans, toeing off his shoes and socks as he does so. Miraculously he does not trip or wobble at all.

Clad in nothing but his boxers, Ed presses a up against Roy, as tight as he can, enjoying the grind and friction of his moderately more liberated erection against Roy’s thigh.

Distantly, Ed can hear a beeping sound coming from downstairs. It's probably the coffee but he couldn't care less.

From this position, he finds himself looking down at the graceful arch of Roy’s clavicles, and the shape of them calls to Ed. He drags his teeth along the right one and Roy makes this sound that is half gasp and half moan and then Ed finds himself being lifted up, carried a few steps, and then all but tossed onto the great white expanse of Roy’s bed.

He laughs, looking up at Roy who has stepped out of his own shoes and socks is now undoing the fastenings of his slacks.

"Guess you liked that, huh?" Ed says, scooting up to rest against the pillows and crossing his arms behind his head as he takes in the view.

After all, it’s not every day that he gets to watch someone like Roy take off his clothes just for _him_.

Roy grins at him and the smile is so hot and hungry that it sends a jolt of pure want straight to Ed's groin. He lets his arms fall to the mattress once more.

"Hmm," Roy says, as he climbs onto the bed. His body hovers over Ed's, knees on either side of his thighs and hands bracketing his head. "I can't be sure. I don't think we have enough data yet. Why don't you try it again, you know, for science."

Ed laughs once more, low and dirty, and does as Roy requested. After all, who is he to deny the call of science?

* * *

Ed is gold and silver and so extraordinary, stretched out across the gleaming white of Roy's sheets.

He's thought about this a lot, on long nights when he was alone, and cold, and bored, and longing... And now that Ed is here, that this is happening, Roy feels like he was incredibly foolish to _ever_ think that he could imagine this properly. Fantasy just doesn't stack up next to the real thing.

Roy reaches up to free Ed’s long hair from the confines of it’s ponytail and he watches, delighted as brilliant gold spills everywhere. He’s seen Ed’s hair down a few times before, but never like this, falling like a waterfall over Ed’s bare shoulders and spreading across the pillows.

Even if everything goes sour tomorrow, Roy will treasure this image as long as he lives.

He touches the scar tissue around the shoulder of the automail, with his fingertips, marveling at how clean the seam between flesh and metal is, though the scar that radiates like fire from the wound is significant. He feels very odd, looking at the places where Ed’s skin leaves off and the prosthetic limbs begin, because while Roy certainly does not mind their presence and he is also sad that Ed has suffered such trauma and such loss to be in this state.

His hands do not linger on the scars though.

Almost reverently he presses his palms to the center of Ed’s chest, tracing collarbones and pectorals, sternum, ribs, and abdominals. Ed trembles at the touch, lashes fluttering closed against his cheeks.

Ed bites his lip.

Roy pokes him in the stomach, making Ed yelp and twist, trying to escape from the sensation.

“What the fuck, Roy!”

“Told you so,” he says, with what he knows is his smuggest of smug grins.

The only warning he has before Ed flips him onto his back is the slight narrowing of golden eyes.

Roy lets himself be tumbled over, enjoying the weight of Ed above him.

“Who’s smirking now, you bastard?” Ed says as he pins Roy to the mattress below him. Roy arches up, sliding his cock against Ed’s and gives him the most blinding smile that he can muster.

“Oh me, definitely still me,” he says as he feels Ed shudder against him. Ed gently rakes his fingers down Roy's chest and the sensation of the cool metal juxtaposed with the scrape of blunt fingernails sends shivers racing across his skin and he moans. Ed grins widely and repeats the motion.

They’re both still wearing their underwear and that would seem to be far too much clothing, as far as Ed is concerned. He makes short work of removing them and the sweet, torturous relief of being able to feel the his dick pressed against Ed’s for the first time almost makes Roy’s brain short out.

“Oh fuck, Roy…” Ed breathes, shuddering from the sensation overload.

Ed’s lips crash into Roy’s desperate and hungry and Roy seizes his advantage to roll Ed back over, and he lands, straddling the blond’s right thigh. Roy bites and kisses his way from Ed’s lips, down the column of his throat, and down onto his chest. His left hand comes to rest on Ed’s ribcage, fingers tracing the place where skin meets metal, while he nips and licks at his left nipple.

“Stop – stop fucking teasing,” Ed chokes out, hands fisting in the sheets.

“Oh,” says Roy, “but I was just getting started. Are you sure I should stop now?”

Ed makes this sort of helpless sound like he’s dying. “You’re a bastard,” he says.

Roy just grins and goes back to teasing the tender flesh, though he takes mercy on him and wraps his left hand around Ed’s straining cock.

“So you like to tell me,” he says, pumping his hand up and down, slow and easy.

Ed makes a desperate sound and every muscle in his body strains, drawing tight.

“Oh fuck Roy, _Roy_!” His name is like a mantra on Ed’s lips, like for all of his staggering intelligence, he can’t seem to think of anything else to say. That thought results in a surge of smug satisfaction, the knowledge that with nothing more than his hands and mouth he is able to reduce Ed’s vocabulary to monosyllables and cursing is heady indeed.

Abruptly, he moves down the bed, coming to rest between Ed’s knees. One hand presses against the blond’s stomach and the other is still wrapped tightly around his cock. Burning golden eyes watch Roy as he pumps his hand up and down once more, before licking a stripe from base to tip.

“Holy shit!” Ed gasps, hips trying to snap off the bed, though Roy’s hand holds him in place.

“Good?” Roy asks, looking up to meet his lover’s eyes. The blond lets out a wordless, needy whine and Roy can’t help but grin before closing his mouth and sucking Ed down in one smooth motion.

This is a particular talent of Roy’s. People are always telling him that he has a clever tongue, but most of them have no idea exactly how true that really is. Roy views going down on his partners as something of an artform and he’d like to think that he’s mastered it.

He runs his tongue along the underside of Ed’s cock, tracing the vein there and flicking against the head, and lets the just the barest hint of teeth scrape against the delicate skin.

“Mm – _fuck yeah_.” Ed moans, head falling back and left hand scrabbling for purchase in Roy’s hair. With every bob of Roy’s head and swirl of his tongue the fingers tightened fractionally, sending a jolt to Roy’s groin. He loves having hands in his hair, the pull that rides the pleasure/pain edge, his partner’s desperate attempt to retain some control as Roy does his best to demolish it… there really is nothing quite like the rush it brings.

He’s so hard that he feels like he might die, but god he barely cares. Ed is so responsive and alive beneath his hands and his mouth, he could do this for hours, days, maybe even the rest of his life.

“Wait, Roy – I’m – wait,” Ed says between gasps, pulling at Roy’s hair once more. “You gotta stop that or I’m not gonna fucking last.”

Roy draws back and Ed reaches down to pull him in for a filthy kiss.

“You have condoms right? And lube, please tell me you have lube?” Ed asks.

He pulls back a bit so that he can look Ed in the eyes. “What kind of poor host do you think I am?”

“That’s not an answer,” Ed says, making a face at Roy.

He laughs. “Top drawer of the nightstand.”

“Oh thank fuck,” Ed says before stopping his ministrations and climbing across the bed to rummage through Roy’s nightstand.

And Roy finds himself staring at Ed’s ass, which was almost too good to be true in pants and naked… Well. They do not make asses like that every day.

With a contented sigh, Roy reaches out and strokes a palm down Ed’s flank, amusement curling warmly in his chest when Ed yelps and almost drops the condoms and lube in his hands.

The blond turns back to face him, scowling.

“Do you have a preference?” Roy asks and Ed’s face shifts a little, growing a bit confused.

“Preference?” asks Ed.

Roy takes the objects from Ed’s hands.

“Do you want to top or bottom?” Roy asks.

A delicious flush of crimson begins on Ed’s chest and spreads like a wildfire up his neck and across his face. “Uh… bottom. I guess.”

That works for Roy. He’s… well, he’s flexible in a lot of ways, and he’s definitely up to switching things up in bed. But he’s usually happiest when he’s on top.

“Lie back,” he tells Ed and as the blond complies, Roy settles between his mismatched legs, nudging them wider apart.

He uncaps the lube and slicks his fingers, while Ed watches him, golden eyes burning like stars and bottom lip caught between his teeth.

Roy traces a single, slick finger below Ed’s balls, down to his entrance, teasing for a second, before sliding it inside.

Ed gasps and arches into the touch.

“Fuck, _Roy, fuck_ ,” he chokes out, body already beginning to tremble.

“You like that?” Roy asks, sliding the finger in and out, ever so slowly.

Ed nods, lashes fluttering and lip caught between his teeth.

He pumps the finger over and over, marveling at the heat and pressure.

“Talk to me,” Roy says, letting his voice drop into a gravelly rumble.

“Hurry the fuck up,” Ed moans, because he doesn’t seem to get that dirty talk is a thing. It’s so Ed though, that Roy grins and acquiesces, sliding in a second finger and slowly scissoring the two digits apart.

A ragged moan tears itself from Ed’s lips and the sound makes Roy’s cock throb painfully. He wants nothing more than to just dispense with the preparation and go for it already, thrusting deep inside of Ed so that he can fuck him senseless.

But Ed’s body is so tight and Roy is _so_ enjoying working the blond into a state of mindless desire so intense that all he can do is moan and quake beneath Roy’s hands.

Eventually, Roy slips in a third finger and curls the digits up to drag against sensitive nerves, a move that sends Ed’s hip snapping up off the bed and makes him growl, “Just fuck me already you bastard. Do you need an engraved invitation?”

Roy laughs and pulls his fingers free. “Why? Did you have one made?”

Ed grabs Roy and hauls him up the bed with one hand, and kisses him in a way that Roy thinks was probably intended mostly to shut him up.

In the meantime, Roy tears open a condom packet and rolls the plastic down his shaft. There’s more lube, a lot more kissing and then he’s pressing into Ed’s body. As he slides home he is almost overwhelmed by how perfectly they fit together. Their eyes lock and the entirety of time and space seems to narrow to this one moment.

Ed feels like safety. Like happiness.

Unbidden, a dark, unwelcome thought slips into Roy’s mind.

He doesn't deserve this. He doesn't deserve Ed. Roy's hands that have done such terrible things in the past and have only just begun to make up for his sins, do not deserve to be splayed out across the golden body before him. Suddenly, he finds himself almost afraid to move his hands, to discover that where he has touched a dark stain now resides.

"Hey," Ed says, voice rough, "where are you?"

Roy shuts his eyes for a second, body still and tight. "Sorry."

Ed snorts, "Yeah I didn't come here to do this alone. So come back for wherever you are. Doesn't seem like a very nice place anyway, judging by that face you're making. There's a lot better stuff going on out here."

Roy has to smile at that. At Ed's cocky tone and his demanding hands, pulling Roy back down, back into him. Ed’s lips meet Roy's, far more tenderly than might be expected from Ed’s tone, and his hands run soothingly up and down his back.

 _No, I might not deserve him_ , Roy thinks, _but I’m sure as hell going to try to earn him._

“You are so extraordinary.” Roy says, pressing his forehead against Ed’s for a brief second. Then before Ed can tell him off for being sappy, he pulls almost all the way out and thrusts back in ad the only sound that Ed can make is an inarticulate moan of pleasure.

Roy lifts Ed’s right leg up to wrap around his waist, getting a not so small kick of satisfaction from the progress that Ed has made in terms of his range of movement and then deciding that he needs to not think too much about yoga in bed before he becomes forever unable to practice it without remembering this moment.

Ed kisses Roy desperately, mumbling “please” and “fuck yes” and “ _Roy_ ” against Roy’s mouth. Distantly, he realizes that he too is saying something, something incoherent and half mumbled against Ed’s lips.

It might be “Edward”. It might be “I love you”. It might just be nonsense. Roy is too focused on Ed to tell, and Ed is too far gone to hear him. He whines, arms tightening around Roy’s back as he starts to come apart at the seams.

Roy wraps a hand around Ed’s neglected cock again, pumping it in time with his thrusts and it doesn't take long before Ed is coming, body shaking and shuddering, as spurts of hot liquid paint stripes on both of their stomachs. And As Ed’s body clenches and spasms, Roy feels himself being pulled over the edge with his lover.

His vision goes white as his orgasm hits him like a tidal wave. He cries out, broken and hoarse, the motions of his hips losing all rhythm, before collapsing atop Ed, face pressed into the blond’s neck.

They lay there for a while, basking in the afterglow while both of their breathing regulates.

Ed’s fingers comb lazily through Roy’s hair, sending pleasant tingles down his spine and making his eyes drift shut.

“You know,” says Ed, from where he lays, debauched and sprawled across Roy’s now filthy sheets, “the coffee is probably cold by now.”

“What a shame,” Roy says, mildly, not feeling like it is very much a shame at all. He’ll take sex with Ed over coffee any day.

After a bit he does muster the wherewithal to gently pull out of Ed. Reluctantly, he gets up to dispose of the condom and to retrieve a towel from the bathroom to clean the both of them up. He climbs back onto the bed, towel in hand and wipes down Ed’s chest and stomach before cleaning himself off and then tossing the soiled towel in the general direction of the laundry hamper.

Judging from the muffled thump, he misses by a mile, but Roy is too exhausted and content to care.

He lays back down on the bed, slipping up to press against Ed’s side and throwing an arm around the smaller man to tuck him firmly against his body. Ed stiffens at first, then relaxes and wiggles around a bit, adjusting himself so that they are pressed together with Ed’s back firmly against Roy’s chest.

“Your bed’s pretty fucking great,” Ed says after a moment.

“Oh?” says Roy, pressing a kiss against the curve of Ed’s neck.

“Hmm, yeah,” Ed nods, then he yawns and snuggles down a little deeper into Roy’s embrace. “You might have a hard time getting me out of it. Especially if it comes with you.”

Roy reaches around and with some effort manages to pull the duvet cover from the foot of his bed up over the both of them. He’ll deal with the sheets tomorrow. For now he has Ed, warm and relaxed and radiating contentment, in his arms, and outside of the foggy glass of his windows he can see the first snowfall of the year beginning.

“That, my dear Edward, is what we call a positive problem,” he says.

* * *

Ed comes awake in the middle of the night, brain already going at full throttle, and sits bolt upright in Roy’s bed.

“Holy shit,” he says aloud.

While he slept, curled in the dreamy haze of post-coital bliss, the background engine of his mind had kept on ticking away. And as if a great cosmic timer has gone off somewhere, the missing piece of his theory, the reason that no matter what he tries, he can not make his equation work, has finally coalesced in his brain.

He has been looking at the whole problem wrong.

Ed knows the following things to be true: there is too much energy in the universe and not enough detectable matter. Parallel dimensions _must_ exist because if they do not, then several of the fundamental forces would not work right. And his machine is picking up energy signatures – that seem to be coming from absolutely _nowhere_ – which hop around the way quantum particles do.

Ed feels like he’s been standing in a dark room, pointing a flashlight at each of the the individual parts of this problem for months and all of a sudden someone has turned on all the lights.

What if the energy readings that he’s been picking up seem strange, not because of an error, but because the energy is coming from somewhere that he cannot yet detect? Somewhere like, oh, another _fucking dimension_?

What if Dark Energy is not actually emanating from some sort of strange, undetectable matter in this dimension, but instead is the result of matter decaying and breaking down into its smallest and most fundamental particles and then bleeding through from somewhere else? Dimensions themselves can't interact, but who is to say that small enough particles couldn't slip through the walls?

It sounds nuts, right up until it doesn’t.

Because the readings that he has been getting are so very, _very_ strange, but if all of these things are true, then why couldn’t he have built a machine that would pick up on that?

Of course, this is only a hypothesis right now. He needs to adjust his formulas and he’ll have to completely revisit his therories on how dimensions interact – not to mention his personal feeling on what it means if energy can cross between them – and the thought of trying to explain this theory to his professors makes his head ache.

Even so, this feels like the breakthrough that he’s been waiting for.

“Oh my god, oh my fucking god,” he breathes, struggling to untangle himself from the blankets and the cage of Roy’s arms.

He needs to write this down _now_ , if he waits 'til morning it could disappear. This is too important and Ed can’t take that risk.

When at last he manages to disentangle himself from the quicksand of the bed, he stumbles to his feet, barely even registering the cold air against his naked skin, and hurries over to the desk. The room is still dark but there is enough soft light coming from outside and downstairs for Ed to see by.

For a guy whose home is otherwise so spotless, Roy’s desk is actually a giant mess. Papers and art supplies and a stack of unsorted mail litter the surface and Ed scrambles around, looking for a blank _anything_ that he doesn’t think Roy will mind too much if he writes on.

Eventually he finds a notepad with Xenotime Hotel’s logo stamped across the top that says “call Chris on tues OR ELSE”, but is otherwise unmarked, so he removes the note carefully and sets it aside. Grabbing a ballpoint pen, Ed begins to write.

The ideas and formulas pour out of him like water, splashing across the page, backtracking and redoubling on themselves with notes and corrections as Ed feverishly attempts to put every single piece of this concept onto paper.

His brain feels too full and at the same time, like it was made specifically to comprehend the stream of information flowing through it. He’ll have to test this theory of course. And then test it again and again and set up different experiments and test it _yet again_. But if he’s right… _if he’s right!_ Nothing will ever be the same.

The fundamental forces, the Big Bang, the reason that the universe is the way it is; all the answers to all the questions ride on the string of nearly incomprehensible writing scrawled over this hotel notepad.

“Ed?” comes the sleepy mumble of Roy’s voice, muffled by the pillows, and it jars him out of his math trance, but thankfully does not chase the epiphany away. “What're you doing up?”

Ed looks over his shoulder to see Roy rubbing at his eyes, and blinking blearily at him. He realizes that he must look totally nuts, standing naked by the desk, scribbling frantically.

He doesn’t really care.

“I’ve fucking solved it, Roy! The theory of everything; I figured out what I was missing!” he says, barely containing his desire to tell Roy all about it at the top of his lungs. He wants to scream it to the heavens: Edward Elric under-fucking-stands the universe.

Roy sits up properly, slightly more awake now, and glances at the clock. “It’s Four AM… You couldn’t have waited to solve it until the morning, could you?”

“Not really, no,” Ed says, going back to writing.

Roy flops back down onto the bed and groans. “I should have known that you’d lose interest in me as soon as science came knocking again.”

“Obviously sex with you is the magical key to understanding the universe, Roy,” Ed says, rolling his eyes fondly at his lover. “How’s that for soothing your ego? Now let me work.”

There’s a momentary pause, then Roy says, “Well, I suppose it helps. But at least come work on the bed; it’s freezing without you.”

That, Ed supposes is a reasonable request. After all it _is_ cold. Snow is falling hard outside of the window and the bed, with Roy in it, looks like a much more comfortable place to work.

Carrying the notepad and pen with him he climbs back into the bed and leans up against the headboard. He slides his legs underneath the covers and smiles when Roy curls into the space next to him and throws an arm across his waist.

And Ed pauses because this moment is special. He feels at peace and whole and happy. Maybe more-so than he has ever felt in his entire life. He feels like he has fallen into a dream world where everything is right.

The background noise of his brain is a contented hum of activity and understanding and his heart thrums with affection.

Gently, Ed combs his fingers through Roy’s hair, once, twice, and then he turns back to his work.

* * *

He wakes up the next morning feeling great.

Really great.

Rested and warm and comfortable.

There’s someone sleeping in his arms, spooned tightly into the curve of his body.

Roy’s eyes crack open to take in the room. It’s still mostly dark, but the lights from the lower level were left on by accident and they provide sufficient illumination for Roy to take stock of his situation.

Ed has his back to Roy, but he’s pressed as close to him as he can get. Their legs are tangled together, and the one complaint that Roy has, is that the Automail is _freezing_. If they do this again – and Roy really hopes that they will – Ed is wearing a sock to bed, he decides.

He twists a little, trying to move his limbs away from the icy prosthetic, but Ed makes a disgruntled sound and shifts in his sleep, so Roy stops moving and opts to deal with the discomfort for the time being.

He’s content to just lie there with the lazy thrum of sleepy desire simmering with no real urgency low in his stomach. It has been so long since he woke up with someone else and longer still since he had hopes of continuing to wake up with that person in the future.

He almost can't believe this is real. Ed is here and _his_. They had a great date and mindblowingly awesome sex. His life seems too perfect and Roy feels his old fear that the rug is about to be yanked out from underneath him trying to crawl back in.

 _Not today,_ he tells himself, forcing the negative thoughts back. He is going to lie here and revel in this and he’s not going to worry about things that might never even happen.

Ed rolls over, somehow avoiding hitting Roy with his metal limbs, and nuzzles his face into the curve of the yoga instructor’s neck. Thankfully, the Automail arm, which has been cradled against Ed’s body all night, is far warmer than the leg. In his sleep, Ed’s face is relaxed and soft, his youth showing clearly without his ageless eyes to disguise it.

There are eleven years between them, a fact of which Roy is keenly aware, but it is also something that Ed makes him forget on a regular basis because of how little he seems to care. They’ve both followed sort of unusual paths in their lives, not looking for a cookie cutter ending with a white picket fence. Perhaps it was only natural that they would fall together like this.

Ed shifts again and this time Roy hears the sound of crinkling paper. Roy frowns and pushes himself up to look over the sleeping physicist’s body. On the bed, partially crushed under Ed, is a massive heap of pages from one of the notepads on his desk. Roy reaches over and carefully tugs them free, gathering them up and setting them further out of the way near the edge of the bed. They are covered in mathematical scribbling, which is completely illegible to Roy but the enthusiastic ‘FUCK YEAH!’ scribbled on the bottom of one page makes him think that Ed at least is pleased with their contents.

He’s just laying back down to try for a few more minutes of sleep when he catches a glance of the blurry world outside of his window and he starts.

While they slept, Amestris has been covered by a blanket of white and the snow is still falling heavily. It’s hard to tell due to the warped glass and the darkness of the pre-dawn sky, but the snowdrifts look at least two feet deep. Roy hopes that Ed didn’t have any pressing plans because neither of them is going anywhere today.

He checks the time, cursing softly when he realizes that it’s only seven twenty-seven. His internal clock usually lets him sleep in on weekends, but apparently not today. He’s awake now, though and there’s no point in dragging Ed out of bed just yet when he was up only a few hours earlier, doing science.

With a resigned sigh, Roy disentangles himself from Ed and crawls out of the bed. The blonde rolls into the warm space vacated by Roy’s body and wraps all of the blankets around himself until nothing is visible except for the top of his brilliant golden hair.

Roy bends over and kisses the crown of Ed’s head, then shivers in the cold air and goes to use the bathroom and put on clothing.

He gets dressed in a pair of navy blue flannel pants and the cream cable-knit sweater that Gracia had made for him when she was pregnant with Elicia and had been knitting compulsively to alleviate the boredom. Roy wanders around the room, picking up and folding discarded clothing. Then he tucks the blankets more firmly in around Ed and traipses downstairs.

The coffee from last night is beyond stale and he makes a face when he pours it down the drain. As he scrubs out the pot with hot water and soap, he mentally takes stock of his supplies. He had thankfully gone to the grocery store on his way home from visiting Ed in the lab earlier that week, so he’s fairly well prepared for them to ride out a few days of being snowbound if that is necessary.

And he certainly has no shortage of ideas as to how the two of them could occupy their time and keep warm…

But he’s getting ahead of himself. First comes fresh coffee and something for breakfast, so that when Ed does wake up he’ll have food waiting. Roy is nothing if not a master of the morning after.

He dries out the glass pot and sets a new batch of coffee brewing. Then he begins pulling things out of his pantry to make pancakes. Ed might balk at the whole vegan thing, but this pancake recipe is pure gold. And besides, who knows? If they do end up snowed in, perhaps Roy can change Ed’s mind. He turns on the stove, gas flame burning brightly, and sets a massive cast iron pan on it to heat while he mixes everything in a glass bowl.

As he’s pouring the first of the pancakes onto the iron skillet, he hears rustling from upstairs and then the sound of uneven footsteps –one slightly heavier than the other – crossing loft heading into the bathroom. The door hinges squeak as Ed closes it behind him. A few minutes later, the pipes clank and gurgle and the door squeaks open.

Roy turns his eyes to the stairs and he has to actively hold his jaw shut to keep it from falling open in surprise.

Yawning and stretching, Ed is making his way down to the main level, dressed in a pair of Roy’s black fitted sweat pants and one of his old Stanford shirts. Apparently he has decided to raid Roy’s closet en lieu of trying to deal with the buttons on his shirt from the night before.

Ed is swimming in the shirt and he’s had to roll the pants up in order to keep them from bunching at his ankles. His hair is still loose, falling over his shoulders, and the golden mass is in desperate need of a good combing. He looks _perfect_.

“I hope I didn’t wake you,” Roy says, trying to keep his composure. As much as he’d like to launch straight into showering Ed with affection, he thinks that it might be wisest to play things close to the chest for a bit, see where Ed’s head is at this morning.

“I smelled food and, more importantly, coffee,” says Ed through another yawn. “Also the bed was cold without you.”

Roy grins and sets the mixing bowl down on the counter. There are two pancakes cooking on the griddle and a small pile of them already on a plate, with a spare saucepan lid covering them to keep them hot.

“Sadly the food and coffee required me to get out of bed. As of yet, I have not figured out how to make them happen remotely,” he says.

Ed walks into the kitchen, coming to stand before Roy.

“Good morning,” he says, crooked smile lifting the edge of his lips, before he tugs Roy forwards by the waistband of his pants and rises up on his toes to kiss him.

Roy drapes his arms around Ed, pulling him in closer, and the blond melts into his body, soft and pliant, and makes a contented sound against Roy’s lips.

“Good morning indeed,” Roy says when he finally pulls away to check on the pancakes, which are perhaps a bit more burnt than he had really intended.

Ed begins opening and closing cabinets, looking for coffee cups. When he finally finds them, he fetches two down and pours coffee into both.

“You weren’t lying about the almond milk, right?” he asks, passing Roy the fuller of the two cups.

“It’s in the fridge,” says Roy, accepting the cup in one hand as he lifts the last pancake out of the pan with a spatula in the other.

The blond retrieves the almond milk and drowns the helpless coffee in his cup with so much that Roy privately wonders why Ed even bothers with the pretense to begin with.

Then Ed settles himself on one of the stools at the breakfast bar where Roy has already laid out plates and cutlery.

“So I have a question,” Ed says, drumming his metal fingers against his coffee cup.

“Hmm?” Roy says as he slices a banana into a bowl.

“I obviously borrowed some of your shit – hope that’s cool – but while I was looking for shirts, I found your stash of really awful yoga pants. And I have to ask, are you on some kind of quest to find the worst pants in the universe or is this just a personal thing?” Ed asks.

Roy gives him a look that he hopes conveys his deep disappointment that Ed just doesn’t _get it_. “Look, okay, they’re fun. Also fashionable.”

“You’re such a weirdo,” Ed says, but he’s grinning.

Roy finishes slicing the banana and puts both fruit and pancakes in front of Ed.

“That is entirely possible, but I am your weirdo,” Roy says, as he walks around to join Ed at the breakfast bar. He climbs up onto the empty stool next to him and pulls a pancake onto his plate.

Ed gets a little pink in the cheeks and Roy is glad to know that their activities last night have not chased away Ed’s easily flustered nature.

There’s a break in the conversation while they dig into the pancakes, but as the stack dwindles to nothing – blessedly without any complaints about the vegan nature of the food – Ed turns on his stool and gives Roy a speculative glance.

“So, uh, did you have plans today?” Ed asks.

“Not in particular, other than perhaps to try to coax you back upstairs for a repeat performance of last night,” says Roy.

Ed clears his throat and twists a strand of his golden hair around his finger.

“Lucky for you,” Ed says, turning on his barstool so that he’s facing Roy, “all of my plans to go to the lab and work on the theory I came up with last night have been canceled by reason of snowstorm. So it looks like I’m at loose ends today.”

A slow smile spreads over Roy’s face. Really, he could not have asked for a better morning or a more perfect person to share it with.

“How awful,” he says, not sounding even remotely sorry at all, as he leans over to kiss Ed breathless.

* * *

Epilogue

* * *

In late January, after the first paper detailing his theory and the early practical results from his experiments have begun to make their rounds through the scientific community, Ed begins receiving a whole lot of phone calls. And emails. And texts. And occasionally visits to his lab.

All from very important people who _really_ want a moment – or all – of his time.

Most of this he finds to be some combination of irritating – it is majorly interrupting his work – and kind of satisfying, because there’s really nothing like confirmation from his peers that he’s actually discovered the most likely answer to the biggest fucking question of all time.

The one call that he reacts to with unabashed joy however, comes one Saturday afternoon, when he is curled up on the large, cream sofa in Roy’s living room, reading a book with his back pressed against the armrest and his toes wedged underneath Roy’s legs for warmth. The yoga instructor is going through tax forms, trying to make sense of all the accounting jargon, and he’s wearing his reading glasses.

Which, by the way, are a new thing that had made Roy get all self-conscious about his age until Ed had asked him, while blushing _furiously_ , to leave them on in bed one night. For obvious reasons, there have been no more complaints since then.

When the call comes in, Ed has to fight his way out from under the mass of blankets, that Roy had piled on him in order to keep him warm, to reach his phone.

“Hello?” he says when he finally manages to extricate the device and hits the answer button.

“Good afternoon, my name is Dr. Julia Crichton from CERN. Is this Monsieur Elric?” says a woman with a thick French accent.

Ed, articulate as ever, says, “Holy shit. I mean, hello. Yes, this is Edward Elric.”

Because this is _CERN_. As in the people who built the Large Hadron Collider. As in the people, if ever there were any, who can actually help Ed put his experiments into practice on the scale at which he really, _really_ needs to if he wants to prove once and for all that he is right.

And as it turns out, CERN is aware of this and they want to _meet with him._ Which means they are willing to fly him to fucking Switzerland for said meeting.

They’re gonna fly him there, put him up for a week, he’s gonna get to tour the facility and see the largest particle accelerator in the world in person. Ed feels like he’s fucking dreaming, but he’s not. This is actually happening.

“Hey,” he says to Roy, the second he hangs up the phone with Julia, “if we can make it work, do you wanna go to Switzerland with me?”

Roy’s answer is an immediate and emphatic yes.

It takes a little orchestrating (not to mention a lot of emails back and forth between Ed and CERN’s administrative department) but Ed gets CERN's permission to bring Roy with him and Roy gets Riza’s permission to leave the gym for a week.

They go in mid-February and it is an interesting trip, to say the least. Traveling as a new couple always presents some interesting challenges, even under normal circumstances, and international travel is on a whole other level. They argue about how many suitcases to bring, who’s going to pay for what, and exactly how many tourist traps Roy is going to drag Ed to in their down time, and that’s all before they even get to the airport.

Ed’s Automail sets off the metal detectors at the security checkpoint and there is a slight mixup with the frequent flyer miles that Roy used to pay for his ticket, but they eventually get on the plane and the trip is officially underway. Ed sleeps most of the way, head pillowed on Roy's shoulder and he wakes up to find that Roy has doodled several pictures of him on the back of his copy of Skymall.

But as luck would have it, once they're actually at their destination, Roy is a very chill traveling companion.

That’s a good thing too, because while Ed really loves to travel, the overstimulation of it makes him anxious and that coupled with his excitement about actually getting to see the Large Hadron Collider in person has turned him into a human yo-yo of emotion.

When they land at the Geneva Airport, he calls Al – the international roaming charge is going to be a nightmare but he doesn’t really care – while Roy gets the bags and talks to the driver that CERN sent to collect them. In a really helpful twist of fate it turns out that speaking pretty solid French is actually one of Roy’s many hidden talents.

The younger Elric brother had been massively jealous that he couldn’t go, but the jealousy was tempered by the fact that what was keeping him in the US was the once in a lifetime internship that he had landed with the R&D department of one of the largest medical engineering companies in the world.

Al and Winry pass the phone back and forth giving him advice and asking questions, until Roy waves his hand, letting Ed know that the car is ready for them.

“Have fun, brother! And take pictures!” Al says.

“Yeah, yeah,” Ed says, “I will though I can’t promise they’ll be any good.”

“We miss you! Tell Roy hello for us too, okay?” says Winry.

Ed smiles. “I guess I miss you too, or whatever. We’ll talk soon, but I gotta run. Don’t do anything dumb while I’m gone, okay?”

“Love you!” says Al.

“Love you too, bye guys,” Ed says, before ending the call. He shoves his phone into the pocket of his jacket and hustles over to join Roy at the car.

“The geeks send their love,” he says as they slide into the back seat of the black sedan.

Roy arches a brow at him, but doesn’t bother saying anything about the fact that Ed is the biggest geek any of them knows.

Switzerland in February is freezing, gray, and still snowy, much like Amestris at this time of year. But the hotel that CERN is putting them up in is comfortable and their room has the fanciest bathroom that Ed has ever laid eyes on, and the crowning glory is a gleaming white tub so deep and wide that it could double as a small swimming pool.

When they’re getting cleaned up post flight, Roy takes the opportunity to teach Ed about the combined joys of sex and bath tubs, and despite the fact that they are both totally exhausted, a good time is had by all.

The next morning Ed wakes up jet lagged and sore after only three hours of sleep. Roy makes him do some yoga in their room and while his body certainly feels better, his brain is still a groggy mess. In a desperate attempt to wake himself up, Ed begins drinking coffee and he manages to inhale about five cups before Roy realizes what he’s doing and forcibly removes the sixth from his hands. This isn’t even the coffee-flavored almond milk that Ed normally drinks either; milk substitutes being in short supply at their hotel means that Ed is doing the unthinkable and drinking his coffee black.

The result is that by the time he gets a call to tell him that CERN has sent a car to come pick him up for his meeting, Ed’s brain is firing at warp eleven and he can’t hold still.

Roy, who has plans to do a little sightseeing while Ed is otherwise occupied, waits for the car with him outside of their hotel, while Ed babbles at great length about the technical specs of the LHC.

“... and then they shut it down for recommissioning but recently they’ve started it back up again and now it’s providing energy to particle collisions at 13 TeV which is fucking ridiculous because that’s like double what they could do when they first turned it on,” Ed says without so much as a pause for breath, then he turns on Roy, with a hint of panic in his eyes. “Roy, what if they think I’m an idiot?”

He doesn’t even know why this is suddenly bothering him. It’s not like his age or lack of credentials or _anything_ has ever bothered him before.

Roy takes Ed by the shoulders, forcing him to stand still. “Edward, as usual, you need to breathe or you’re going to pass out. And it’s not actually possible for anyone who has ever met you to think that you are an idiot.”

“But I don’t even have my fucking PhD yet,” he says, “And I’m like… fucking twenty two. Most of these guys have been studying physics since before I was born.”

“That may be true, but you are the one who came up with this theory, not them,” Roy says firmly.

Shoulders slumping, Ed looks down at the ground. “I know that, I just… can’t stop freaking out. I really need their help on this and that means I need them to like me, you know? And I’m not very good at making people like me.”

Roy moves his hands from Ed’s shoulders to his face, echoing the move he used that day in Bradley Park, tilting Ed’s gaze upwards to meet his.

“Ed, they’re not going to like you, they’re going to _love_ you. And if they don’t, then they are the idiots,” he says.

Color and heat leap to Ed’s cheeks. “How the hell could you even know that?”

Roy gives him one of his small, graceful shrugs and smiles like Ed is the most incredible thing that he’s ever seen. “Because _I_ love you, so I know how impossible it is not to.”

Ed opens his mouth. Then closes it. Then he opens it again and just gapes for a minute, the racing wheels of his brain screeching to a halt.

“You… you love me?” He stammers, eyes wide.

“Yes, Ed. I love you. You’re brilliant and wonderful and anyone who can’t see that is blind.”

There is snow coming down, soft flurries, not enough to amount to anything, but the breeze that is blowing steadily pushes them under the awning that covers the hotel’s front entrance.

“You love me,” Ed says again, softly as a smile begins to stretch across his face. The world is beginning to slow down, the hot rush of the caffeine high is wearing off and everything feels like it’s coming back into focus. White snow flurries are getting caught in his eyelashes, landing on his face and in Roy’s inky black hair.

Roy’s thumbs, covered in black gloves to protect them from the bitter cold of the Swiss winter, brush snowflakes off of Ed’s cheek.

Ed leans in, rising up on his toes to press his lips to Roy’s. His heart races and there’s a firework explosion of tingling happiness that races through his veins.

Roy _loves_ him.

“I fucking love you too, you bastard,” he says when they finally pull back to breathe. Roy gives him a smile that sends heat coursing through him despite the icy weather and Ed gets the feeling that he is about to say something sassy – or so incredibly smooth that it actually makes Ed consider blowing off the meeting he literally flew halfway around the world for to spend the rest of the day in bed – so he fists his hands in the front of Roy’s jacket and drags him down again for another kiss.

Everything is right in Edward Elric’s universe.

The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't be believe that it's over. This fic completely devoured my life going from what was supposed to be a ridiculous 5k one-shot to the longest thing I've ever written. It was a pleasure to write but it was hard and it took up all of my free time during a month where I was working 12 and 13 hour days, usually without a full weekend break. 
> 
> If you enjoyed this fic please let me know and maybe tell a friend! Comments and kudos are greatly appreciated! Thank you all so much for sticking with me all the way through to the end! 
> 
> More art by Gettibucket for this fic can be found [here](http://gettibucket.tumblr.com/post/130757275091/work-it-out-updated-for-commandercait-for-being)!
> 
> A note about the science in this chapter: the concept that Ed comes up with is based on something that one of the leading theoretical physicists in the world, Katherine Freese, talked about in one of the many videos that I watched when I was researching for this fic, but it is not likely that I have somehow stumbled upon the real solution.


End file.
